"Oh, after all, you know," he said, as they walked on--"after all, you
know, I am not like Wright--I have no business."
He walked with the ladies to the door of their lodging. Angela kept
always in front. She stood there, however, at the little confectioner's
window until the others came up. She let her mother pass in, and then
she said to Bernard, looking at him--
"Shall I see you again?"
"Some time, I hope."
"I mean--are you going away?"
Bernard looked for a moment at a little pink sugar cherub--a species
of Cupid, with a gilded bow--which figured among the pastry-cook's
enticements. Then he said--
"I will come and tell you this evening."
And in the evening he went to tell her; she had mentioned during the
walk in the garden of the Schloss that they should not go out. As he
approached Mrs. Vivian's door he saw a figure in a light dress standing
in the little balcony. He stopped and looked up, and then the person in
the light dress, leaning her hands on the railing, with her shoulders a
little raised, bent over and looked down at him. It was very dark,
but even through the thick dusk he thought he perceived the finest
brilliancy of Angela Vivian's smile.
"I shall not go away," he said, lifting his voice a little.
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