Garth did not answer at once. The girl was hesitating whether to call him again, when his voice made her start. It sounded sleepy! "I am in bed," he said. "What do you want? Is it too important to wait till morning?"
"It's merely that I wished to put the jewels which were left in the salon into your charge," Marise replied with freezing dignity. "I do not think they are safe there."
"Wouldn't they be safe enough with you?" came grumpily—yes, grumpily!—through the closed door.
"No doubt. But I don't wish to have the responsibility, as I don't care to accept them...."
"Oh, I see! Well, if that's your decision, it doesn't matter whether they're safe or not. Leave the things in the corridor if your room's too sacred for them. If that's all you want, I shall not get out of bed."
What a man!
"One would think you were a multi-millionaire!" Marise couldn't resist that one last, sarcastic dig. "So I may be for all you know. Do what you like with the silly old jewels."
Marise threw the cases on the floor as loudly as she could. She knew that the outer door was locked, and that Céline would be the first person in, when morning came, so the act wasn't as reckless as it seemed. But it was a relief to her nerves at the moment.
The filmy dressing-gown, the sparkling mules, the hair down, the general heartbreaking divineness, were wasted.