"Why, great heavens, you are the girl of the forest house!"
"You have not, I think, sir," she answered him, "eyes that see quick or far; it is, no doubt, your town breeding."
The colour was slowly fading from her cheeks. She held herself very stiff and proud. But he was still all eager over his discovery.
"Geiger-Hans told me how you brought me your pillow," said he, "when I lay hurt in the forest."
"I would have done the same to a sick dog," said she.
"You cried over me when you thought I was dead, he said," exclaimed Steven, stung by her contempt.
"Had I known you better, sir——"
Her eyes were bright and hard, her lip was a curve of scorn and her chin a tilted defiance. But all at once he saw that, under the close-clinging fabric of her short-waisted gown, her heart was beating like a madly frightened bird in the fowler's net. The knot of blue ribands upon her bosom danced with its fluttering. And there came upon him a desire, at once tender and cruel, to feel that beating heart beneath his hand. He gave a short laugh.
"Shall I teach you the valse?" he said, leaning forward. "It is quite easy—just my arm about you, and the music does the rest."
She shrank back with a look that would have blasted him.