"I actually believe that the usually serene nature of Mr. Duncan Grahame is a trifle, that is to say only a trifle, ruffled," she ironically replied. "I fancied that while Henry Stokes Osgood, Esquire, whom the laws designate my lord and master, was attending the Yacht Club election, Mr. Grahame might deign to amuse me. If I was not mistaken, his lordship, when he has removed his outer garments, can find me in the back drawing-room."
Duncan was left standing in the hallway. He had silently permitted her to retire because he had been unable to find a ready reply to her words. He had made up his mind to be disagreeable, and it angered him to have his guns silenced after the first fire.
He was in the habit of bullying women, but such tactics had invariably proved useless against Helen Osgood. When he was away from her he felt ashamed to think that her's was the stronger nature. He fancied, at times, that he did not care for her, and was resolved for policy's sake to break away from her influence, but each attempt of his to anger her, instead of producing tears and pleadings, ended, as he feared this would, in a meek surrender on his part. "That woman understands me," he muttered as he removed his great-coat. He was never sure of his ability to read her subtle blue-black eyes; even her soft, olive cheeks never changed their delicate shading, and her thin, languid lips were often determined and cold. Her hair was of a lustreless black, and her figure was delicately, but superbly, formed. She was the blended type of Celt and Creole, her father being Scotch and her mother of Louisiana French descent. In her the cold cunning of the North bridled the reckless warmth of the South. Her acts were prompted by impulse but masked by design, and if Duncan seemed at times to reach her Southern heart, the canny Scotch nature quickly veiled her feelings, and he was left at a loss to know whether he had inspired passion or merely aroused amusement.
But it was not his nature to analyze deeply or reflect long. He removed his coat, walked slowly down the long hallway, and entered the back drawing-room door. Mrs. Osgood was gracefully ensconced in the corner of a divan from the Orient, and her eyes were fixed apparently upon the latest work of Paul Bourget. A tall, bronze lamp was at her side and its rays were tempered by a carefully selected shade of the most becoming tinge. The other lights were dimmed, and beyond could be seen the subdued forms of graceful plants, while beneath her feet the yielding fur of an Arctic bear half hid two tiny bronze-tipped slippers and just enough of scarlet silk.
Duncan stood silently before her. Uncurbed natures are the most capricious, and as he gazed his anger turned to admiration, and he softly sat down beside her, took her hand, and said winningly, "Nell, dear, let's be friends."
She pushed him away, and with a quick, proud toss of her head coldly said, "Not till my lord Duncan has humbly sued for pardon."
"Pardon for what?"
"For intended flight to the West without permission and leave-taking."
"Am I not, then, the master of my actions?" Duncan replied in a somewhat ruffled tone.
"Not if you expect my favor." Then, lowering her large, black eyes, and pointing authoritatively to the floor, she continued: "Down on your knees and confess you were attempting to act without my knowledge."