The girl’s eyes mutely commanded him to be still; but the eager-eyed officer caught the look.
“Too late,” laughed he. “The young man is evidently not accustomed to surprises.” His gaze went from Herbert to the girl with great enjoyment. “And so,” said he to the young man, “you are acquainted with this lady?”
Young Camp made no reply; Peggy stood stiffly upright with her chin tilted proudly, an expression of scorn in her eyes; and she also was silent when the man turned his glance upon her once more.
But for all her pride of bearing, for all her scorn of her captor, George noted a small tremble of the lower lip; it were as though her restraint would goat any moment and the tears begin to flow. And as he watched he saw the resentment in her eyes now and then give place to something else. It was fear; the shivering fear of one who is helpless.
The officer addressed her. “It may be,” said he, “that you can explain your presence outside.”
“Perhaps I could,” she returned, and if there was fear in her eyes, there was no trace of it in her voice.
“It would be somewhat interesting to hear your reasons for lurking about.”
“It would be equally interesting to hear your reasons for treating me as you have done,” answered Peggy, quietly.
“As to that, I have my orders,” and the man laughed, not without good nature. “And in the face of what has just now occurred, I am bound to be even more strict than ever in carrying them out.”
While the officer questioned and the girl answered, her glances went here and there about the room like those of a hunted thing seeking a way of escape. The eyes of George Prentiss closely followed after; but they saw things that her startled glances passed over.