A few seconds later Borkins ushered in two visitors. Merriton, prepared
by the convenient glass for the appearance of one was nevertheless not
unpleased to see the other. For the names that Borkins rolled off his
tongue with much relish were those of "Miss Brellier and Mr. Brellier,
sir."
His lady of the thrice blessed wreck! His lady of the dainty accent and
glorious eyes.
His face glowed suddenly and he crossed the big room in a couple of
strides and in the next second was holding Antoinette's hand rather
longer than was necessary, and was looking down into the rouguish
greeny-gray eyes that had captivated him only yesterday, when for one
terrible, glorious moment he had held her in his arms, while the railroad
coach dissolved around them.
"Are you fit to be about?" he said, his voice ringing with the very
evident pleasure that he felt at this meeting with her, and his eyes
wandering to where a strip of pink court plaster upon her forehead showed
faintly through the screen of hair that covered it. Then he dropped her
hand and turned toward the man who stood a pace or two behind her tiny
figure, looking at him with the bluest, youngest eyes he had ever looked
into.
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