The remark sounded so bitter that Gustave noticed it, and cast a questioning glance at the young lady.
"Do you think that Frida belongs to those natures which allow themselves to be thus elevated?"
"No; I think her very proud, and far more courageous than is usual at her age. Just on that account is this unquestioning docility incomprehensible."
"Yes. I am rather successful in training," acknowledged Gustave. "But as to your proposition, to tell the whole to my brother immediately, that is impossible. You don't know my brother; his obstinacy is by no means conquered, and would return doubly strong if he discovered our plot. The moment that he learnt that I had brought Frida here with a decided purpose, his anger would burst forth, and he would send us both back across the ocean."
"That would indeed be a misfortune, for then the advantage of the whole intrigue would be lost."
Jessie must indeed have been irritated before she allowed the hateful word "intrigue" to pass her lips, but it slipped out, and Gustave quite accepted it.
"Quite right; that is what I fear, and it would never do to jeopardise it thus, now my heart is set on remaining here."
There was a peculiar light in his eyes at the last words. Jessie did not see it; she had bent again over her drawing, and worked away with renewed zeal, but the pencil trembled in her hand, and the strokes became hasty and uncertain. Gustave watched her for a while; at last he rose again.
"No, Miss Clifford, it really will not do to treat the perspective like that. Permit me one moment."
And without further ceremony, he took the pencil from her hand, and began to alter the drawing. Jessie was about to make a violent protest, but she quickly saw that the pencil was in a very practised hand, and that a few powerful strokes entirely corrected the error.