A tête-à-tête by the fire! Worse and worse. He had been fortified by the thought of the butler and footman. An hour under their supercilious eyes would mean the most impersonal kind of small talk. But they'd hardly stand round the library.
However, the small table before the blazing logs looked very cosy and the imposing room was full of mellow light. Two Gothic chairs had been drawn to the table. They, at least, looked uncomfortable enough to avert sentiment. Not that he felt sentimental. He was holding down something a good deal stronger than sentiment, but he flattered himself that he looked as saturnine as Satan himself as he warmed his back at the fire. He hoped she had a cold in her head.
But she had not. As she entered, dressed in a white tea gown of chiffon and lace, she looked like a moonbeam, and as if no mortal indisposition had ever brushed her in passing. Instead of her pearls she wore a long thin necklace of diamonds that seemed to frost her gown. She was smiling and gracious and infinitely remote. The effect was as cold and steadying as his morning's icy shower.
He shook her hand firmly. "Sorry you've been seedy. Hope it didn't lay you up."
"Oh, no. I fancy I merely wanted an excuse to see Atlantic City. It was just a touch of bronchitis and fled at once."
"Like Atlantic City?"
"No. It is merely an interminable line of ostentatiously rich hotels on a board walk! None of the grace and dignity of Ostend—poor Ostend as it used to be. The digue was one of the most brilliant sights in Europe—but no doubt you have seen it," she added politely.
"Yes, I spent a week there once, but Bruges interested me more. I was very young at the time."
"You must have been! Don't you like to gamble? The Kursaal could be very exciting."
"Oh, yes, I like to gamble occasionally." (God! What banal talk!) "Gambling with life, however, is a long sight more exciting."