But Mr. Tremain was not to be baffled, though he rather wished himself out of the scene, and felt unwarrantably angry at Miss James for being the innocent cause of his present position.
"Have you had bad news?" he persisted. "Are you suffering? Let me beg of you to tell me what troubles you?"
As suddenly as she had drawn from him before she turned towards him now, and lifted her face, pale and haggard in the moonlight, full upon him. Her eyes shone hotly.
"I have been looking my dead past—my old love—in the face," she cried, passionately, "and I am miserable!"
She turned, and before Philip could put out a detaining hand, was gone. He stood as she left him, almost as pale as the wild, white face she had flashed upon him.
"Good God!" he muttered. "What a look of Patty there was in her eyes!"
Miss James waited long, and impatiently, and in vain for Mr. Tremain and her wrap. He did not come back; indeed, as a matter of fact, he forgot all about her commission until later in the evening, when she swept by him on Jack Howard's arm. At sight of her, Philip was struck by his sins of omission, and with rather less self-possession than usual, made a poor apology for his rudeness.
"Were you rude, Mr. Tremain?" Miss James replied, icily. "Pray don't apologise; I had not accused you." And with a mocking smile, she passed on, laughing ostentatiously at Jack's latest witticism.
Mr. Tremain looked after them with a faint surprise in his glance; then he, too, laughed, but quietly, as he said, half-aloud:
"Oh, woman, woman! thy name is caprice!"