The man evaded it. "I have never seen her except in the limelight."
"And you didn't like her--then?" Keen disappointment sounded in her
voice.
His heart smote him. The child was young, though possibly not so young
as she looked. She had her ideals, and they would be shattered soon
enough without any help from him.
With a brief laugh he turned aside, dismissing the subject. "That form
of entertainment doesn't appeal to me much," he said. "Now it's your
turn to tell me something. I have been wondering about the colour of
that sea. Would you call it blue--or purple?"
She looked, and again the mystery was in her face. For a moment she did
not speak. Then, "It is violet," she said--"the colour of Rosa Mundi's
eyes."
Ere the frown had died from his face she was gone, pattering lightly
over the sand, flitting like a day-dream into the blinding sunshine that
seemed to drop a veil behind her, leaving him to his thoughts.
* * * * *
Randal Courteney was an old and favoured guest at the Hurley Bay Hotel.
From his own particular corner of the great dining-room he was
accustomed to look out upon the world that came and went.
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