Page:Restless Earth.djvu/38

The voice belonged to Patricia Weybourn. She was standing in the shade of the “tram-shelter,” her hands clasped tightly upon a fashionable hand-bag, pale of face, her lips parted in a nervous smile. Exquisitely attired, she was thinner than when he had last seen her, and her glorious eyes seemed larger than formerly. The flush which stained her cheeks could not long disguise the palor which had grown upon them in the suspense of the weeks since their last devastating meeting.

Harley stared at her stupidly for a few moments, then he laughed uncertainly. His heart was pounding madly.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed, for the benefit of two elderly intending passengers who were looking at him, frankly surprised that such a fashionable young lady should have such a disreputable acquaintance. “What brings you to this part of the world?”

“Business,” Patricia answered, aping his attitude, and looking up the street at the approaching tram-car.

“Business good?”

“We mustn’t complain. We are getting our share.”

“That’s good news.”

“Great weather.”

“Delightful. This gentle westerly on such a day makes life worth living.”

“Yes.”

The tram-car ground noisily to a stop. The two elderly passengers bustled to board it. Neither Patricia nor Harley moved. The tram-conductor looked at them expectantly, then twitched the bell-cord irritably, as though he were being cheated. The tram moved off down the hill.

They watched it go.

“Aren’t you going into town?” Harley asked, when the silence became unendurable.

“Presently. I have an hour or so to spare. I thought I might take a stroll along the beach.”

Harley looked hard at the shimmering tram-rails