An appalling light came into Gora's pale eyes as she turned them, at first in some surprise, on her sister-in-law: "Yes, if I thought he cared … could be made to care if I had the chance … if another woman tried to get him away … yes, I don't fancy I'd stop at anything…. Even if I finally were forced to believe that he never could care for me in that way, the only way that counts with men—at first, anyway … well, I believe I'd fight to the death just the same. When you've waited for thirty-four years … well, you know what you want! Better die fighting than live on interminably for nothing … less than nothing…. I can't tell you any more. Please don't ask me."
"Of course not. I'll tell you my little story." And she gave a rapid vivid account of the remarkable scene at the Embassy. She concluded abruptly: "Do you think one could tell that a man's eyes were hazel—the golden-brown hazel—across a pitch dark room above the flame of a briquet?"
"Hazel?" Alexina was standing behind Gora. She saw her body stiffen.
"I could have vowed they were hazel. And that he was English. He also reminded me of some one I must have met somewhere or other … one meets so many … possibly it was only a fancy."
"You didn't see him after the lights went on again?"
"They didn't. Only candles. We were all too anxious to get away, anyhow. I fancy the King was in a hurry to get the ambassador upstairs and tell him what he thought of him—"
"Don't be flippant. You always did have a maddening habit of being flippant at the wrong time. Haven't you seen him again anywhere?"
"I've walked the Rue de Rivoli and lunched at the Ritz looking for him; but I've never had even a glimpse—unless that was his back I saw at the Crillon to-day. If I saw his eyes I'd know in a minute."
"Why should you think it was his back?"
"Some men have expression in the back of their head. And I just had an idea—fantastic, no doubt—that my particular Englishman stands up straight."