She walked across the floor to a window, turned there, with her back to the light, and stood facing him, her arms folded.
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, noting this attitude. “Is it the trial scene from a faded melodrama?” She looked steadily at him without replying. “What’s it all about to-day?” he asked lightly. “I’ll try to give you the proper cues if you’ll indicate the general nature of the scene, Cora mine.”
She continued to look at him in silence.
“It’s very effective,” he observed. “Brings out the figure, too. Do forgive me if you’re serious, dear lady, but never in my life was I able to take the folded-arms business seriously. It was used on the stage of all countries so much that I believe most new-school actors have dropped it. They think it lacks genuineness.”
Cora waited a moment longer, then spoke. “How much chance have I to get Richard Lindley’s money back from you?”
He was astounded. “Oh, I say!”
“I had a caller, this morning,” she said, slowly. “He talked about you—quite a lot! He’s told me several things about you.”
“Mr. Vilas?” he asked, with a sting in his quick smile.
“No,” she answered coolly. “Much older.”
At that he jumped up, stepped quickly close to her, and swept her with an intense and brilliant scrutiny.