“Yes, but I had business with him—this and other. Where are the kiddies, Lalanté?”
“Oh, they’re larking about down the kloof, catapulting birds, or something.”
“All the better. I want to have some serious talk with you.”
“Serious? Don’t scare me, old chap, will you?” she answered, going to him, and taking his face between her long cool fingers. “Because I’m easily scared, and ‘serious’ sounds so unconscionably alarming.”
Le Sage felt more than ever disarmed. He was glowing angry with himself, and in proportion felt the less inclined to be so with her. His heart swelled with pride and love, as he met the half-laughing, half-wistful eyes of this beautiful, splendid girl of his. How the devil could he get out what he wanted to say, he asked himself savagely? But the thought of Wyvern came to his aid. With him, at any rate, he felt desperately angry.
“What time did you get back last night?” he said, shortly.
It was Lalanté’s turn to feel disconcerted.
“Last night? Get back?” she repeated, changing colour ever so slightly.
“Yes. That’s what I said,” he answered, still more shortly, and inwardly lashing himself up. “What time?”
“Well, it wasn’t so very late,” replied the girl, serenely. She had had time to pick herself up, though it cost her an effort, while wondering who had given her away; though indeed who could have done so, seeing that she herself had met her father at the gate before he had spoken to anybody? “But there was a fine bright moon—almost at the full.”