“Bella!” he said at last.
“Yes, that’s me,” retorted the woman. “Oh, I’m no ghost, though you look as if you thought I was! Great goodness, fancy meeting you—and here! Well, wonders will never cease. You! Why, I thought you were thousands of miles away, and you ain’t. By Heaven, I’m in luck! Come, man, pull yourself together; I’m not a ghost, I tell you, not me! Don’t pretend you forget Bella. How are you, Mr. Bradstone?” and with a mocking smile she held out her hand.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE AVENGER.
Great drops of cold sweat stood upon Bartley Bradstone’s forehead as he looked at the handsome, devil-may-care face of the woman who, with her arms akimbo, stood regarding him with a mixture of amusement and contempt, combined with an enjoyment of his discomfiture which was almost tigerish.
At last he managed to find his voice, a very weak and feeble one.
“This—this is a surprise, Bella,” he said, forcing a sickly smile.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” she retorted. “A pleasant surprise, of course. What’s become of the elegant manners you used to sport so freely? Any one would think I was an ogre instead of ‘handsome Bella!’ You see I haven’t forgotten some of your compliments. Yes, it is a surprise for both of us. I thought you were across the sea. That was a clever idea of yours, sending the money every quarter from France. It took me in, it did, indeed! I suppose you thought I should run after you, didn’t you? Run after you!” and she laughed with scorn. “What are you doing down here? Give an account of yourself, Bartley? Have you got such a thing as a cigarette about you? The smell of that cigar has set me off longing for a puff.”
He handed her his silver cigar case, and she smiled as she saw how his hand shook.
“Here, light it,” she said, with a nonchalant air of command.
He lit the cigarette, and handed it to her.