CHAPTER XVI
Along the deserted corridor of the big hotel Pansy was hurrying. Her outing with Le Breton had made her late. By the time she was dressed and ready dinner was well started. She went along quickly, still thinking over the events of the day.
Everything had turned out exactly as she had hoped. She wanted to keep Le Breton's love, and yet not be tied in any way—to have him in the background to marry if, or when, she felt so disposed.
In the full glare of the electric light, going down the wide stairs, she entered the large patio, looking a picture.
She was wearing a dress of some yellow, gauzy material that matched her hair, a garment that clung around her like a sunbeam, bright and shimmering. There were gold shoes on her feet, and around her neck a long chain of yellow amber beads.
As she crossed the big, empty hall, making towards the dining-room, a man rose from his chair—the short, red-faced man from whom Le Breton had rescued her a few nights before.
There was an air about him as if he had been waiting there to waylay her.
Pansy saw him and she swerved slightly, but beyond that she gave him no attention.
However, he was not so easily avoided.
He took up his stand immediately before her, leering at her in a malicious, disagreeable fashion.
"You're fond of chucking red-haired women in my teeth," he said. "Go and chuck 'em at the fellow you were spooning with outside just now."
Annoyed that the man should have witnessed her parting with Le Breton, Pansy would have passed without a word; but he dodged, and was in front of her again.
"At least, she isn't my fancy woman," he went on. "I don't run a villa for her, even if I do admire her looks."
The weight of insinuation in his voice brought the girl to a halt.
"What is it? What do you want to say?" she asked coldly.
"You mean to tell me you don't know Le Breton runs that French actress, Lucille Lemesurier?"
Pansy did not know. Nor did she believe a word the man said.
"How dare you say such things about Mr. Le Breton?" she flashed.
"Hoity-toity! How dare I indeed!"
He laughed coarsely.
"It isn't only me that's talking about it. Everybody knows," he went on.
Everybody did not know. Pansy among the number.
"I don't believe a word you say," she said in an angry manner.
"Don't you? All right. Trot along then, and ask the manager. Ask anybody. They're all talking about it. You would be, too, except that you're so conceited that you never come and gossip with the crowd. Ask who is running that villa for Lucille Lemesurier, and they'll tell you it's that high and mighty French millionaire chap, Le Breton, the same as I do."
For a moment Pansy just stared at him, horror and disbelief on her face; then she turned quickly away. She did not go towards the dining-room, but towards the main entrance of the hotel.
She had never troubled to make any inquiries about Le Breton. She had liked him, and that was enough.
Pansy could not believe what the man said.
For all that, she was going to the fountain-head—to Le Breton—to hear what he had to say on the subject.