” He fancied that she was yielding, but her eyes fell once more upon that fatal envelope, and her tone when she spoke was colder than ever. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. ” “You have not answered my question,” he reminded her. ” She looked at him with fluttering eyelids—sweetly grateful.
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