Her toilet finished, and passed upon in the mirror, she sent her maid on a shopping expedition which would occupy her until noon, and even hurried her off. She wanted no one about, not even Elise, when she made her last play at Harleston.
Elise gone five minutes before the hour, she compelled herself to outward tranquillity—while she strove for inward calm. And succeeding wonderfully well—so well, indeed, that none would ever have suspected the agitation seething under the cold placidity. Its only evidence was in the gentle swing of her narrow foot, and the nervous play of her slender fingers. And even these indications disappeared at the knock on the corridor door; and she went almost blithely and flung it back—to Harleston bowing on the threshold.
“Punctual as usual!” she greeted.
“Because I came to one who is always punctual,” he replied, taking her hand, nor dropping it until they were well inside the reception room.
“Sit down, old enemy,” said she, sinking into a chair and pointing to another—which she had been careful to place just within reach. “You’ve nothing much to do for a short while, have you?”
“I’ve nothing much to do any time except to keep an eye on you!” he laughed.
“Am I so difficult?” she asked.
“You keep me fairly occupied at all times—and sometimes rather more.”
“At least I endeavour not to offend your eye!” she smiled, her head on her hand, her eyes on him.
“The only difficulty is that you are too alluring,” he returned. “One is prone to forget that his business is not to admire but to observe dispassionately and to block your plans. You’re much too beautiful, Madeline; you usually make monkeys of all of us, and while we’re held fascinated by your loveliness you scoop the prize. It’s not fair, my lady; you play with—loaded dice.”