“See! He's no good. He's not the man for you!”
He glanced at her at last. Her lips moved a little, and he was awed by that movement without a sound. Next instant the hard grasp of his fingers vanished from her arm. Heyst had shut the door. On his way back to the table, he crossed the path of the girl they had called Alma—she didn't know why—also Magdalen, whose mind had remained so long in doubt as to the reason of her own existence. She no longer wondered at that bitter riddle, since her heart found its solution in a blinding, hot glow of passionate purpose.
CHAPTER TEN
She passed by Heyst as if she had indeed been blinded by some secret, lurid, and consuming glare into which she was about to enter. The curtain of the bedroom door fell behind her into rigid folds. Ricardo's vacant gaze seemed to be watching the dancing flight of a fly in mid air.
“Extra dark outside, ain't it?” he muttered.
“Not so dark but that I could see that man of yours prowling about there,” said Heyst in measured tones.
“What—Pedro? He's scarcely a man you know; or else I wouldn't be so fond of him as I am.”
“Very well. Let's call him your worthy associate.”
“Ay! Worthy enough for what we want of him. A great standby is Peter in a scrimmage. A growl and a bite—oh, my! And you don't want him about?”