"Has she money?" was her first enquiry at the end of her examination.
"If she has I am not aware of it," he retorted angrily.
"Well, I wonder what you see in her," she remarked, with her attentive gaze still upon the picture, "though she looks as if she'd never let a man go if she once got hold of him."
Her vulgar insolence worked him into an uncontrollable spasm of anger; and with a smothered oath he wrenched the photograph from her and flung it into the open drawer of his desk.
"She is too sacred to me to be made the subject of your criticism," he exclaimed.
Whether she was frankly offended or unaffectedly amused he could not tell, but she burst into so musical a laugh that he found himself listening to it with positive pleasure.
"There! there! don't be foolish—I was only joking," she returned, "please don't think for one minute that it's worth my while to be jealous of you."
"I don't think so," he replied, with open annoyance, "but I wish you wouldn't come here."
She had taken up her fur and stood now wrapping it about her throat, while her eyes were fixed upon him with an expression he found it impossible to read. Was it anger, seduction, passion or disappointment? Or was it some deeper feeling than he had ever believed it possible for her face to show?
"It is the last time, I promise you," she said, "but do you know why I came this afternoon?"