"Nothing, perhaps, except 'good day,'" she laughed. "It seems that I'm de trop. I'll go at once."
AT the door she paused. "You will be quite secure from interruption here to-day, I think. When you go, take to the forest to the northward and you should get out in safety. This secret is delicious. When you are well out of harm's way, mess amiss, I shall tell it, in my best manner, at the dinner table."
She waved her hand and was gone.
CHAPTER XXII
ONE GREAT PAN IS DEAD
As she went out Markham came forward, but Hermia waved him aside, and, going to the open window, stood silent, her head bent forward, her gaze fixed on Olga's diminishing back. It seemed more than usually shapely, that back, more than usually careless and disdainful. Her feet spurned the ground and tripped lightly among the grasses, her shoulders swinging easily, the feather in her hat nodding, mischievously defiant. After she had melted into the thicket, Hermia still stood watching the spot where she had disappeared. But Markham, no longer to be denied, came from behind and caught her around the waist.
"It's true, Hermia," he whispered, "you love—?"
Her brow had been deep in thought, and at first it had not seemed that she heard him or felt his arms about her, but as his lips touched her cheek she sprang away, her eyes blazing at him.
"You!" As she brushed the cheek his lips touched: "Hardly," scornfully, and then, with a laugh, "I lied, that's all."
"I'll not believe it. You love me—"