Do you think you must live
in East Elgin?"
"It would be rather more convenient."
"Because there are two semidetached in River Street, just
finished, that look very pretty and roomy. I thought when
I saw them that one of them might be what you would like."
"Thank you," he said, and tried not to say it curtly.
"They belong to White, the grocer. River Street isn't
East Elgin, but it is that way, and it would be a great
deal pleasanter for--for her."
"I must consider that, of course. You haven't been in
them? I should hope for a bright sitting-room, and a very
private study."
If Advena was aware of any unconscious implication, the
pair of eyes she turned upon him showed no trace of
satisfaction in it.
"No, I haven't. But if I could be of any use I should be
very glad to go over them with you, and--"
She stopped involuntarily, checked by the embarrassment
in his face, though she had to wait for his words to
explain it.
"I should be most grateful. But--but might it not be
misunderstood?"
She bent her head over her work, and one of those instants
passed between them which he had learned to dread. They
were so completely the human pair as they sat together,
withdrawn in comfort and shelter, absorbed in homely
matters and in each other; it was easy to forget that
they were only a picture, a sham, and that the reality
lay further on, in the early spring.
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