He’d followed the pointing fingers with his attention for a moment, of course, but now brought his eyes back down to her. He smiled, but there was nothing carefree about it. Nothing glad.

She wasn’t so selfish a creature to think it had anything to do with her. The sort of sorrow that infected that smile had roots far deeper than a two-day acquaintance. Her fingers were already reaching for her camera, but she curled them into her palm instead. “I didn’t realize the two of you were runners.” There, a nice benign conversation topic.

Marin ducked his head. “We did not realize we both are until yesterday. It seems Clarke nearly qualified for your team in the 1912 Olympics, though.”

“Really?” Ivy must have been listening with half an ear as she chattered about her merit and demerit system. She interrupted herself to turn wide, awestruck eyes on Clarke. “How very impressive!”

Lily pressed her lips against a grin. Another something for Ivy to swoon over later, it seemed. For her own part, she kept her attention on the Russian. How odd it was to hear someone say your team and not be part of it themselves. “And do you compete?”

He looked genuinely taken aback by the question. “No. That is not my purpose.” Before she could ask what his purpose was, he extended an arm toward the sidewalk. “May we see you and your sister home, Miss Blackwell?”

That had probably been what Clarke had suggested to him, the thing that had made him so uncertain. But apparently he was no keener to disappoint his new friend than she was her sister. Lily smiled. “You may, of course. But if it’s too much trouble—”

“This is pleasure. Not trouble.” The words sounded certain, and his returning smile had no new notes of regret in it, so she decided to believe him. Though he cast another look down at his clothes. “Forgive my appearance, if you would. And I hesitate to offer an arm. . . .”

She laughed and turned toward home. “There is nothing to forgive, I assure you. How far did you run? Were you on the mile circuit?”

He nodded and fell into step beside her, though he kept generous distance between them. “Five miles today.” Ivy must have missed one. “We are both, it seems, runners of long distances. Though neither of us has been able to train as much in recent times.”

Yes, war had a way of interrupting such things.

“Do you enjoy any sport?” he asked, hesitating a bit, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he ought to ask her.

Lily grinned up at him. “Not like that. But I play croquet.”

Something flickered in his eyes. A smile whispered over the corners of his lips that seemed absent at least a bit of the sorrow. “I am largely unfamiliar with this game, I confess. You . . . hit a ball, I believe? With a hammer?”