She never looked once in Graydon's direction but that Arnault was aware of the act. There was no longer any menace in his deportment toward her—he was as devoted as the place and time would permit—but in his eyes dwelt a vigilance and a resolution which should have given her warning.
After supper Mr. and Mrs. Muir found a comfortable nook on the piazza, and the banker smoked his cigar with ineffable content.
"Do you feel too tired for a waltz, Madge?" Graydon asked.
"The idea! when I've rested in the cars half a day."
"Oh, Madge!" he whispered; "dear, sweet little friend—you know I mean sister, only I dare not say it—I'm so glad to be with you again! What makes you look so radiant to-night? You look as though you had a world of happy thoughts behind those sparkling eyes."
"Nonsense, Graydon! You are always imagining things. I have youth, good health, have had my supper—a trout supper, too—and I like to dance, just as a bird enjoys flying."
"You seem a bird-of-paradise. Happy the man who coaxes you into his cage! Brother or not, when your beaux become too attentive they will find me a perfect dragon of a critic."
"When I meet my ideal, you shall have nothing to say."
"I suppose not. I am at a loss to know where you will find him."
"I shan't find him; he must find me."