"Have you ever seen her?" he asked. "I must confess to a dubiousness on the subject."
Before he could add another word Louisiana turned upon him. He could see her face clearly in the moonlight. It was white, and her eyes were dilated and full of fire.
"Why do you speak in that way?" she cried. "As if—as if such people were so far beneath you. What right have you——"
She stopped suddenly. Laurence Ferrol was gazing at her in amazement. She rose from her seat, trembling.
"I will go away a little," she said. "I beg your pardon—and Miss Ferrol's."
She turned her back upon them and went away. Ferrol sat holding her little round, white-feather fan helplessly, and staring after her until she disappeared.
It was several seconds before the silence was broken. It was he who broke it.
"I don't know what it means," he said, in a low voice. "I don't know what I have done!"
In a little while he got up and began to roam aimlessly about the gallery. He strolled from one end to the other with his hands thrust in his coat pockets. Olivia, who had remained seated, knew that he was waiting in hopes that Louisiana would return. He had been walking to and fro, looking as miserable as possible, for about half an hour, when at last she saw him pause and turn half round before the open door of an upper corridor leading out upon the verandah. A black figure stood revealed against the inside light. It was Louisiana, and, after hesitating a moment, she moved slowly forward.
She had not recovered her color, but her manner was perfectly quiet.