"I do--and these are so lovely." As she stood talking to him in the sunlight Anstice told himself that this was really his farewell to the girl he had known and loved, and his eyes could hardly leave her adorable face. The next time they met--if Fate ordained that they should meet again--she would be Bruce Cheniston's wife; and believing as he did that this would be their last meeting as man and maid, Anstice took the hand she held out to him with a very sore heart.
"Good-bye, Miss Wayne." Just for a moment he hesitated, feeling that he could not bear to let her go like this; and the girl, puzzled by his manner, waited rather uneasily, her hand in his. Then he gave her fingers a last clasp, wringing them unconsciously hard, and let them go.
"Good-bye, Dr. Anstice." Standing as she did on the threshold of a new life, face to face with a mystery she dreaded, yet was prepared, to fathom, perhaps Iris' perceptions were a little quickened. All at once she saw that this man looked upon her with different eyes from the other men she knew; and the memory of her strange fancy earlier in the summer gave her the key suddenly to his rather curious manner of bidding her farewell.
With a foolish, but purely womanly, impulse of compassion, she spoke again, laying her hand for a second on his arm with a friendliness which no man could have misunderstood.
"No, Dr. Anstice. Not good-bye. We shall meet again to-morrow, at any rate; so let us just say--au revoir!"
The kind little hand, the friendly words, almost broke down Anstice's self-control.
With a huge effort he kept his voice steady; but his face was grey as he answered her.
"If you wish, Miss Wayne--from the bottom of my heart let it be--only--au revoir!"
* * * * *
And Fate, who foresaw in what wise their next meeting should take place, probably chuckled to herself, like the malignant lady she can be, at this parting between the two who might have been lovers but for a miscalculated shot in the days gone by.
* * * * *
When Anstice had finished his day's work it was barely seven o'clock. Fortunately for him he had no very serious cases on his hands just now, and there was no need, save in the event of an urgent call, for him to go out again when he had eaten his solitary dinner.
He was thankful for the respite, for the strain of the last few weeks, the weeks of Iris' engagement, had been severe; and mind and body were alike overtasked and weary. For several days he had suffered from a severe neuralgic headache, and to-night the torture in head and eyes threatened to overwhelm him.