He shrugged his shoulders.
"When in Rome--Besides, it reminded me of my young days."
"You talk as if you were a close relation of Methuselah. You're not so very
old."
"Am I not?" He paused a moment. "Old enough, at any rate, to have lost all
my illusions."
There was an undercurrent so bitter in the curtly uttered speech that Ann's
warm young sympathies responded involuntarily.
"I wish I could bring them back for you," she said impulsively.
Through the flickering luminance of the lights rimming the boat's gunwale
he looked at her with an odd intensity.
"That's just what I'm afraid of," he said. "That you might bring them back.
Fortunately, I'm leaving Montricheux to-morrow."
Ann was silent. She was vibrantly conscious of the man's strange, forceful
personality. His brusque, hard speeches fell on her like so many blows, and
yet behind them she felt as though there were something that
appealed--something hurt and seeking to hide its hurt behind an armour of
savage irony.
His voice, coolly indifferent once more, broke across her thoughts.
"Would you like to go back now?"
He spoke as though he were suddenly anxious to be rid of her as quickly as
possible, and she assented hastily.
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