It was a very happy week. The weather was all that could be desired for
a seaside holiday,--bright yet not glaring, warm but not hot. The hotel
was everything that was luxurious and comfortable, and, last and best of
all, Cynthia kept bright and happy, and was better--not worse--for the
visits of her old friends.
Every morning Betty accompanied Miles up to the villa, leaving Mr
Gerard and Jill busy playing tennis, roving about on the shore, or
engaged in that other engrossing occupation of throwing stones. For the
first day or two she made excuses, and strolled away to join Mrs
Alliot, but it soon became apparent to her quick senses that neither
that lady nor, strangely enough, Miles himself encouraged these well-
meant excursions. So for the rest of the time she sat in the shelter by
Cynthia's couch, and joined frankly in the conversation. Sometimes
Miles would be silent for almost the whole morning, listening while the
two friends talked together as girls will--a pretty, innocent, sweet-
hearted chatter of home and friends and books and dresses, and "Do you
remember," and "Oh, just suppose," which unconsciously revealed the
character of both.
Absorbed as he was in Cynthia and all that belonged to her, Miles was
more than once arrested by Betty herself, and asked himself if it could
be true or only imagination that she had gained immensely in beauty,
softness, and general charm since his return five weeks ago. There was
an expression on her face in these last days which transfigured the old
Betty into something a hundred times sweeter and more attractive.
Happiness enveloped her as an atmosphere,--an almost tremulous
happiness, as of one fearful of her own joy. Miles felt assured that
Cynthia noticed this new development as he did himself, as he saw the
grey eyes rest on her friend's face with a tender wistfulness of gaze,
and heard the fluttering sigh with which she turned aside.
Never again had Cynthia breathed a word of complaint for her own
limitations. After that first involuntary outburst she had carefully
steered clear of the subject of self, and thrown herself heart and soul
into her companion's interest. It was only when the last day of the
short visit had been reached that she alluded to her own plans.
"We are ordered to leave Franton. It is very hot and oppressive in July
and August, and the doctors want us to go to some high mountain resort
in Switzerland. We shall move on by easy stages as soon as possible--
possibly next week. It is quite uncertain what we shall do for the
autumn and winter; we may possibly move on to the Engadine. In any case
I'm afraid it is unlikely that we shall return to England. Will there
be any chance of seeing you when we return in spring, Miles?"