In a short time all went smoothly again.
Not since they shook hands had Elgar and Cecily encountered each other's glance.

They looked at each other often, very often, but only when the look could not be returned; they exchanged not a syllable.

Yet both knew that at some approaching moment, for them the supreme moment of this day, their eyes must meet.

Not yet; not casually, and whilst others regarded them.

The old ruins would be kind.
It was in the house of Meleager.