He laughed reassuringly.
“I don’t think men notice those things. To me you seemed just as you should seem. I only know that I was glad enough to be there with you.”
“Were you?”—rather wistfully.
“Of course I was. Now I am going, but before I go, don’t forget Monday afternoon. We’ll have lunch and then go to your brother’s rooms.”
She glanced at the clock.
“Is it really so late?” she asked.
“It is. Don’t you notice how quiet it is outside?”
They stood hand in hand for a moment. A strange silence seemed to have fallen upon the streets. Laverick was suddenly conscious of something which he had never felt when Mademoiselle Idiale had smiled upon him—a quickening of the pulses, a sense of gathering excitement which almost took his breath away. His eyes were fixed upon hers, and he seemed to see the reflection of that same wave of feeling in her own expressive face. Her lips trembled, her eyes were deeper and softer than ever. They seemed to be asking him a question, asking and asking till every fibre of his body was concentrated in the desperate effort with, which he kept her at arm’s length.
“Is it so very late?” she whispered, coming just a little closer, so that she was indeed almost within the shelter of his arms.
He clutched her hands almost roughly and raised them to his lips.