So that
it was no surprise to Ann, as she made her way on to the platform, to see
Eliot Coventry coming towards her, an unfolded newspaper under his arm.
Otherwise, the platform was deserted. The train was not yet signalled, and
neither stationmaster nor porter had emerged into view. Without absolute
discourtesy it was impossible for Eliot to avoid speaking to her, and Ann's
heart quickened its beat a little as, after one swift, almost perturbed
glance, he approached her. He looked rather tired, and there was a
restless, thwarted expression in his eyes. So might look the eyes of a man
who habitually denied himself the freedom to act as his inclinations
demanded, and Ann was conscious of a sudden impulse of compassion that
overcame the feeling of hurt pride which his recent attitude towards her
had inspired. She responded to his greeting with a small, friendly smile,
leavened with just a spice of mischief.
"So you're not going to cut me altogether, then?"
"Cut you? Why should I?" he said quickly.
She shook her head.
"I don't know why. But you've been doing the next thing to it lately,
haven't you?"
Then, as he stared moodily down, at her without answering, she continued
with the quaint, courageous candour which was a part of her:
"Will you tell me quite honestly, Mr.
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