She laughed, and as she did so Laurence looked her full in the face. He wanted to find out again what there could be in this girl that reduced everybody to subjection so utter and complete. Was it in the swift flash of the fringed eyes, in the sensuous attractiveness of a certain swarthy, golden, mantling shade of colour which harmonized so well with the bright clearness of the eyes, with the smooth serenity of the brow? He could not determine; yet in that brief fraction of a moment, as he looked, he was uneasily conscious of a certain magnetic thrill communicating itself even to him.
"You are stronger-minded than I am," she said. "I'm afraid I bet shockingly at times."
"Well, whenever I do I invariably lose, which is a first rate curative to any temptation towards that especial form of dissipation."
"Look now, Mr. Stanninghame, I'm going to take you to task," she went on. "Why won't you ever help us in getting up anything?"
"But I do help you."
"You do? Why, there was that concert the other night—you refused when you were asked to take part in it."
"But I did take part in it—as audience. You must have an audience, you know. It's essential to the performance."
"Don't be provoking, now," she said, with a laugh which belied the rebuke, for this sort of fencing delighted her. "You never take part in our dances."
"Dances? Did you ever happen to notice the top of my head?"