She started a little, but still looked away.
"No. You cannot make him love me," she said, softly and sadly.
The big hands lost their hold on one another, and the deep eyes opened a little wider. But she was not watching him.
"Do you mean to say—" He stopped.
She slowly bent her head twice, but said nothing.
"Reanda does not love you?" he said, in wondering interrogation. "Why—I thought—" He hesitated.
"He cares no more for me than—that!" The hand that stretched towards him across the open piano tapped the polished wood once, and sharply.
"Are you in serious earnest?" asked Griggs, bending forward, as though to catch her first look when she should turn.
"Does any one jest about such things?" He could just see that her lips curled a little as she spoke.
"And you—you love him still?" he asked, with pressing voice.