Lois and Blanche looked irresistibly beautiful as they entered the room, the one in her simple, somber attire, the other in a shimmering green silken robe, trimmed with white lace, and frilled fine muslin.
As Lois came in, Paul Desfrayne’s eyes met hers, and by some mysterious fascination, neither he nor she could remove their gaze.
The young girl trembled from some undefined feeling—a sense of mingled pain and pleasure.
Paul felt as if some gauntleted hand had mercilessly compressed his heart. He shivered as if from cold.
“I believe some malignant genius drove me out this day,” he thought.
Lois averted her eyes by a violent effort of will.
“Why does he look at me like this, when he is so cold and repellent in his manners?” she indignantly asked herself.
Lady Quaintree caught the glance, and partly interpreted the looks of both.
“I wish I had had the sense to stop at home,” she said mentally. “I am afraid my Gerald’s chance will be a small one. We really must get away to-morrow at latest. Luckily, the gallant knight errant is pinned safely down in this remote part of the world, and I must coax Lois to go to Switzerland, or some other comfortable place, to give my boy a fair start in the race.”
Her ladyship kept a pretty sharp watch on the two young people—Lois and her handsome young trustee. But, during dinner, nothing rewarded her for her vigilance, or, to speak more correctly, she was absolutely rewarded by observing that they did not once exchange a look, and only noticed each other’s presence when obliged to do so by the etiquette of the table.