“You seem to have made a deep impression,” she said gayly.
“I can’t understand it all,” Rosina began; “he made such a fuss over his good-bye last night and—and—well, really, I never dreamed of his doing such a thing as to come here.”
“I’m heartily glad that he’s come, because now I shall meet him, and I’ve heard—”
She was interrupted by a slight tap at the door, and before either could cry “Entrez!” it was flung open and Von Ibn strode into the room. The first glance at his face showed both that something was gone all wrong, and most horribly so.
Rosina, flushed afresh, went towards him, holding out her hand and wondering if it was anything in connection with Molly that had produced such an utter blackness.
“This is a very great surprise,” she began, but he interrupted her at once.
“Comme je vous ai cherché!” he cried, with violence. “Why are you not gone to the Victoria as you say—as I ask you to?” His face was like a thunder-storm.
The corners of her mouth felt suddenly traitorous; she tried to speak, beginning, “I did not know—” but he broke in, and went hotly on with:
“Naturally you did not know, but I had already known! One could not, of course, expect me to get up to ride on that most uncomfortable train which you chose, but of course also I came on the first train leaving after I did wake up.”
Molly turned abruptly to the window and leaned as far out as she could, her handkerchief pressed tightly over her mouth. Rosina wished that her friend might have been anywhere else; even during what is commonly called “a scene” two are infinitely better company than three.