An instant later she had crossed the narrow passageway, and throwing open the door, stood there smiling faintly, with the hurt, frightened look still on her pale face. Miss Minot was the first to see her. She moved toward her, swiftly catching both the girl’s hands in her own, and dragging her forward to where Cahill and his sister were standing.
“The Prima Donna Contessa!” she said, gayly. “May I introduce Miss Cahill, Mr. Cahill——” but she stopped suddenly, for she saw Cahill take a step forward while a dull red suffused his face.
“You!” he said—“you!” His voice sounded an octave higher than usual and there was a queer, excited ring to it.
The girl drew back in a puzzled, half-offended way. But Cahill left his sister’s side and crossed quickly to where the girl was standing.
“Great heavens!—you!—aren’t you—?” he began, but the girl interrupted him quickly.
“Excuse me,” she said, in a politely distant tone.
“Don’t pretend—” he began again with a curious insistance in his voice; and then he stopped, putting his hand heavily on the back of a chair near him and looking at Miss Minot and the girl standing beside her. An agony of apprehension took hold upon him.
The girl made a little gesture of surprise and turned proudly and indifferently to Miss Minot.
“I don’t think I understand,” she said quietly to her.
The nonplussed, vacant look on her face made Cahill hesitate. He looked fixedly at her. The red had left his face now and it showed a strange pallor. He was just conscious of the cold, astonished look on Miss Minot’s face, and that his sister was staring blankly at him. He pulled himself together sharply.