Free The Bungalow Mystery by Annie Haynes

thoughts all the afternoon. Her smile, her large brown eyes, her very way of holding herself, all were the same.
    But this girl had an air of dignity, a serious purposefulness of manner which were absolutely unlike the varying charm of the girl who had passed as Zoe, and, in place of her golden tresses, a wealth of dusky, nut-brown hair behind the ears and on the nape of the slim, stately neck.
    â€œI think an occasion like this—” Lord Luxmore began presently.
    Roger interrupted him with scant ceremony:
    â€œWho is that—the girl standing by Mr. Marchand?”
    Lord Luxmore looked slightly surprised as he adjusted his pince-nez.
    â€œThat—oh, that is my youngest daughter; she is distributing the prizes to-day. That is my boy next her; he was fifteen yesterday; fine-looking fellow I call him. And yet they tell me he is not strong. I must get you to look at him and see what you think, some day, Dr. Lavington.”
    Roger murmured something inaudible; he scarcely knew what Lord Luxmore was talking about. With his eyes following every movement of the girl on the grassy platform he was trying to grasp the inconceivable fact that, though her smile, her eyes, her very walk were those of the girl at The Bungalow, she was indeed Elizabeth Luxmore, the daughter of one of the most important men in the country—what had Mrs. Melville called her?—the belle of last season.
    His replies grew so wide of the mark at last that Lord Luxmore looked at him in mild astonishment; and Roger himself felt thankful when the children, with their clear, young voices, began one of the glees that had been carefully taught them for the occasion.
    When the last prize had been presented Miss Luxmore stepped down and was lost to sight among the children.
    Lord Luxmore touched Roger’s arm imperatively.
    â€œCome, they will expect me to speak; and I want to show you my boy.”
    Still moving like a man in a dream, Roger followed him. As they passed through the children, now scampering about in all directions, Roger found himself face to face with the girl in the grey dress with the golden hair that had been his magnet all the afternoon. He turned almost with a shudder from the contemplation of her fair, plump face and complacent blue eyes.
    At the same moment Lord Luxmore spoke at his elbow. “Elizabeth, my dear; I want to introduce Dr. Lavington.”
    Evidently Miss Luxmore was a favourite with the Oakthorpe children. Two or three of them were clinging to her skirts; she held one mite in her arms, its curly head nestled up against her neck. As her father spoke she set it down and responded to Roger’s bow with a grave smile.
    It was not often that Lavington’s self-possession was shaken, but to-day, in face of this girl, with her little dainty air of aloofness, whose eyes, the very counterpart of those others he had seen in The Bungalow, held only cold surprise as they met his, he stood, tongue-tied, embarrassed like the veriest schoolboy.
    Miss Luxmore waited a moment, then she said slowly, the same musical inflection in her voice that had rung through the hall at Freshfield:
    â€œWhat a charming afternoon we have had for our treat, have we not? It is very kind of you to help us, Dr. Lavington. I am sure Mr. Marchand is greatly indebted to you.”
    It was she, then, whom Roger had heard speak earlier in the afternoon. Was there a spice of raillery in the clear, level tones now, he wondered—a soupçon of mockery in the eyes that were regarding him so steadily?
    â€œI am afraid I cannot claim to have been of assistance,” he said slowly at last. “But I have been very much interested—”
    â€œRoger! Roger! I was looking for you” It was Mrs. Melville’s voice; she was coming towards them. “I’m going back now if you are ready. Good-bye, Elizabeth, dear,” kissing the girl heartily. “It has been quite delightful seeing you, and I should like to stay