"She is either the most perfect actress, or the coldest and most passionless woman on earth," he said, "incapable of any strong emotion. Or else—or else—she likes me better than she knows. At all events, it is fortunate for both, that I am going away."
[CHAPTER XI.]
A FREAK OF FATE.
ERCY, who had long believed himself to be a perfect cosmopolitan, quite as much at home in one part of the globe as in another, was surprised to find that he was actually homesick after leaving Paris.
With an impatience he could hardly understand, he awaited Dolores' response to his first letter. When it came, full of bright humor and sparkling cynicism, pleasant gossip and sincere expressions of regret at his absence, Percy sat and smoked, and dreamed over it for more than an hour.
He was trying to analyze his own feelings. When a woman does this, ten to one she is in love. When a man does it, ten to one he is not.
Percy did not believe himself to be in love.