The image of Christopher kept floating in front of me; his face seemed to
have the expression of a satyr. Well, at all events, he would never be
able to break my heart like "Alicia Verney's"--nothing could ever make me
care for him. I tried to think of all the good I was going to get out of
the affair, and how really fond I was of Branches.
I walked very fast; people loomed at me, and then disappeared in the mist.
It was getting almost dusk, and suddenly I felt tired and sat down on a
bench.
I had wandered into a side path where there were no chairs. On the bench
before mine I saw, as I passed, a tramp huddled up. I wondered what his
thoughts were, and if he felt any more miserable than I did. I dare say I
was crouching in a depressed position, too.
Not many people went by, and every moment it grew darker. In all my life,
even on the days when Mrs. Carruthers taunted me about mamma being nobody,
I have never felt so wretched. Tears kept rising in my eyes, and I did not
even worry to blink them away. Who would see me, and who in the world
would care if they did see?
Suddenly I was conscious that a very perfect figure was coming out of the
mist towards me, but not until he was close to me, and stopping, with a
start, peered into my face, did I recognize it was Lord Robert.
"Evangeline!" he exclaimed, in a voice of consternation.
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