Stranger within the Gates by Mira Stables

Author:Mira Stables [Stables, Mira]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-06-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

FRANCESCA woke early next day but for one reason or another her toilet seemed to take longer than usual. So she was a little late for breakfast. Mr. Develyn had already arrived and was standing by the window with his back to her glancing at a newspaper. She had good cause to be grateful for this since at the mere sight of him she felt a scalding rush of colour suffuse her cheeks. That was what came of day-dreaming about the man, she thought crossly, and walked over to the window very slowly, hoping that her agitation was not apparent.

Fortunately Mr. Develyn was in a slight difficulty of his own. On his way to his breakfast engagement he had chanced upon a street flower seller and, feeling relaxed and happy after the tensions of the previous night, had impulsively bought a posy of sweet violets for Francesca. It had then seemed to him that everyone he met stared at him in mild surprise until he began to feel as though he was carrying an oversize bouquet. He almost tossed the thing into the gutter but a certain native obstinacy prevented him. What he had done he would hold by. He, too, had been thankful for a breathing space in which to compose a nonchalant phrase or two to accompany his floral offering.

So it was perhaps natural that both should hurry into speech and so speak together.

“To remind you that Spring — the real Spring, not this city counterfeit — is waiting for you at home,” said Mr. Develyn, bowing.

“I am so sorry. Have I kept you waiting long? I did not think it was so late,” apologised Miss Thornish.

Then they both stopped short, laughed, the awkward moment was over, and there was excuse and to spare for bright eyes and glowing cheeks. Francesca breathed a silent prayer of gratitude to the kindly guardian angel — female, she was convinced — who had caused her to choose the dress she was wearing. No colour could have been better designed to set off the violets. And Mr. Develin, seeing her pleasure in the trivial gift, forgot his embarrassment and gave himself up to carefree enjoyment.

Neither the lady nor the gentleman accorded the excellent meal that was served to them the critical appreciation that was its due, though both, despite the lady’s admittedly love-lorn condition, addressed it with good appetite. There was too much to talk about, too much to plan.

Mr. Develyn reported with becoming modesty that his talk had been, on the whole, well received. It presently emerged that he had already been approached to address the Society again. Possibly to give a series of talks, not only on his experiences in the field but on the methods used in deciphering hieroglyphic script.

“A very flattering suggestion,” he admitted. “But I doubt if I am scholar enough to do justice to such a subject. I once had the privilege of meeting Champollion. What dedication! It taught me how feeble and amateurish were my own efforts.

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