For one brief, delicious, maddening moment she was leaning against his breast—so close that a stray lock of her dark hair blew across his lips, while the bewildering perfume he knew so well was fast stealing his senses, and weakening all his fine resolutions.
But directly she recovered her footing she disengaged herself, and changed rapidly from white to red, and then from red to white again, while she thanked him, in a constrained manner, for his assistance.
“I am not accustomed to these high stiles,” she said. And then she added coldly: “What brought you here, Colonel Dacre?”
“Isn’t the country worth seeing, Lady Gwendolyn?”
“Quite; only people never do come here to see the country.”
“There is ‘metal more attractive,’ perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” And she looked into his eyes unflinchingly, while her color wavered again. “Although I have retired from the world I have taken no vows, and am, therefore, still at liberty to welcome my friends.”
“Then I am forced to conclude that you do not look upon me as a friend, since you refused to see me last night?”
“I was not able to do so,” she answered coldly.
“I know; you were better employed.”