'It makes him awful!' Miss Susan murmured. 'The way,' she softly moaned, 'he looks at you!'
Miss Amy, with a glance, met this recognition. 'Yes—doesn't he?' Then her eyes attached themselves to the red windows of the church. 'But it means something.'
'The Lord knows what it means!' her associate gloomily sighed. Then, after an instant, 'Did he move?' Miss Susan asked.
'No—and I didn't.'
'Oh, I did!' Miss Susan declared, recalling her more precipitous retreat.
'I mean I took my time. I waited.'
'To see him fade?'
Miss Amy for a moment said nothing. 'He doesn't fade. That's it.'
'Oh, then you did move!' her relative rejoined.
Again for a little she was silent. 'One has to. But I don't know what really happened. Of course I came back to you. What I mean is that I took him thoroughly in. He's young,' she added.
'But he's bad!' said Miss Susan.
'He's handsome!' Miss Amy brought out after a moment. And she showed herself even prepared to continue: 'Splendidly.'
'"Splendidly"!—with his neck broken and with that terrible look?'
'It's just the look that makes him so. It's the wonderful eyes. They mean something,' Amy Frush brooded.
She spoke with a decision of which Susan presently betrayed the effect. 'And what do they mean?'
Her friend had stared again at the glimmering windows of St. Thomas of Canterbury. 'That it's time we should get to church.'
