There was some mistake. She knew there
must be some mistake. She felt that in some fashion it rested with her
to explain and to justify his presence there.
But in that instant his eyes left her, and the magnetism that compelled
her died swiftly down. She saw him shake hands with Lady Raffold, and
bow to the Ambassador.
Then came her stepmother's quick, beckoning glance, and she moved
forward in response to it. She was quivering from head to foot,
bewildered, in some subtle fashion afraid.
"My dear, your cousin. He will take you in. Ralph, this is Priscilla."
It was sublimely informal. Lady Raffold had rehearsed that introduction
several times. It was half the battle that the young man should feel
himself one of the family from the outset.
Priscilla grabbed at her self-control, and managed to bow. But the next
instant his hand, strong, warm, reassuring, grasped hers.
"Curious, isn't it?" the quiet voice asked. "We can't be strangers, you
and I."
The grip of his fingers was close and intimate. It was as if he appealed
for her support.
With an effort she forced herself to respond:
"Of course not. It must be quite five years since our first meeting."
He looked at her oddly, quizzically, as he offered his arm.
"Why, yes," he drawled, as they began to move towards the door. "Should
auld acquaintance be forgot? It is exactly five years ago to-day.
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