“You’re growing blasé,” she warned.
“Is that an evidence of it?” he asked. “If it is, I know one who must be too blasé even to move,” with a meaning glance at Macloud.
A light foot-fall on the stairs, the soft swish of skirts in the hallway, Croyden turned, expectantly—and Miss Cavendish entered the room.
There was an instant’s silence. Croyden’s from astonishment; the others’ with watching him. 266
Elaine’s eyes were intent on Croyden’s face—and what she saw there gave her great content: he might not be persuaded, but he loved her, and he would not misunderstand. Her face brightened with a fascinating smile.
“You are surprised to see me, messieurs?” she asked, curtsying low.
Croyden’s eyes turned quickly to his friend, and back again.
“I’m not so sure as to Monsieur Macloud,” he said.
“But for yourself?”
“Surprised is quite too light a word—stunned would but meekly express it.”