"To-day," he said. "Sultan's looking well——."
"Where have you been?" she demanded, noticing a change in his voice. "Did you get any fishing?
"Not much," he said, and his eyes were fixed on the horse.
"No? Then why didn't you come back? It's been awfully slow without you. Did you know that I had a day off and run down to the country? I was near you, I believe. Why didn't you leave word where you were going? What's the matter with you?" she broke off sharply, her color coming and going, for there had come into his face, into his eyes, a look almost of pity—newly born pity.
He knew now that he himself loved, that this woman loved him, and how she would suffer presently.
"I'll come in after the theater to-night," he said.
"Ride on now, or we shall have a crowd."
Several men had stopped, but waited, as if recognizing Yorke's right to monopolize her.
"Very well," she said, and she turned the horse. "It has come at last!" she murmured, "at last! He is going to be married. I know it! I know!" Her breath came painfully, and her hand stole up to her heart.
At that moment a lady came riding in the opposite direction. She was fair as a lily, and as beautiful, with soft brown eyes that looked dreamily about her; but as they met the dark ones of Finetta they seemed to awake, and the softness instantly vanished and gave place to an expression that in a man would be called hard and calculating.