“But where is Frank?” he asked.
“My husband dines out this evening,” said Renée coldly.
“Indeed! how unfortunate! He asked me to run over one evening for a cup of coffee and a cigar. Perhaps he will return soon.”
“Not till quite late,” said Renée, who tried hard not to show that she was troubled by the visit.
“I am so glad to see you better, Renée,” he said, taking a chair near her, and speaking in a low, earnest voice.
Renée started, for it was the first time since her marriage that he had called her by her name; and as she met his eyes she felt that it was also the first time since the same event that he had gazed at her with such bold admiration.
What could she do? She could not bid him leave her; and, besides, she felt that in a few minutes his gentlemanly instincts must lead him to go, and, indeed, what was there to fear? He was a gentleman—a friend of her husband—and he had called to see them.
“How times are changed, Renée!” he said, after a pause, as he gazed at her pensively. “Once your eyes used to brighten and the colour flushed into your cheek when I came near. Now, is it a dream—a trick of fancy? I find you another’s, and you turn from me with coldness.”
“Major Malpas,” said Renée quietly, “is this a suitable way of addressing the wife of your friend?”
The mask fell off at these words.