Her eyes were resting on his with the same frank and unembarrassed questioning he had noticed the first time he saw her, as though she were seeking to discover what was passing in his mind, what he was pondering about. They were a very dark brown, those eyes, almost black; and again he noted the ivory softness of her skin, innocent of make-up, and singularly glowing in spite of her lack of colour.
“This is my niece, Mlle. Fayard,” she added, and Selden bowed to the young girl. “You two may walk on and continue your French lesson, while I talk to M. Selden.”
“She is teaching me the first conjugation,” Davis explained, looking ridiculously happy. “We have started with aimer.”
“Allez, allez!” commanded madame, laughing at the blush which overspread the girl’s cheek. “With a Frenchman I could not do that,” she added, looking after them. “But with an American, yes. Why is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Selden.
“But you agree with me that it is quite safe?”
“Oh, yes,” said Selden; “for the girl, that is.”
She laughed outright.
“Are you really such a cynic?” she asked. Then she grew suddenly serious. “Do not be mistaken about her—she is a very good girl, believe me. I have taken good care of her.”
“I can see that,” said Selden, and they walked on for a moment in silence.