He was charmed with this. The more unreasonable she was, the more he liked her.
“I enjoy a place like this,” he went on; “but not for a rest. What appeals to me is the stimulation one finds in a motley crowd like this.”
“Bah!” said Jacqueline, under her breath.
If he would only go away and leave her alone! His voice and his presence were an intolerable exasperation to her. She wanted Barty—and, failing Barty, she wanted to think of him undisturbed; but Mr. Terrill continued to exist, unabashed.
“It’s a curious thing,” he continued, “the transformation that certain qualities of light can effect. Of course, it’s been pretty thoroughly studied in the theater; but to the average mortal—well, moonlight, for instance. I’ve seen your face in lamplight and in the sunlight, but now, in the light of the moon—”
“It makes every one look ghastly, doesn’t it?” Jacqueline interrupted hastily. “I hate it!”
“Hate moonlight, Miss Miles?” said he, mildly reproachful.
“Yes!” she answered stoutly. “I’m not one of those sentimental idiots!”
He seemed to grasp her meaning, for he asked, in quite a different tone, cheerful and matter-of-fact, if he might come down to visit her while she was stopping here.
“Oh, but—” said Jacqueline, dismayed. “You see, Mr. Terrill, I—”