Blake turned to Maxine; and Maxine, with lips parted, eyes dark with thought, met his regard.
For one second her impulse seemed to sway to words, her body to yield to some gracious, drooping enchantment; then, swiftly as M. Cartel had called up silence, she recalled herself—straightened her body and lifted her head.
"Monsieur," she said, with dignity, "I thank you for your kindness and for your companionship—and I bid you good-night!"
The swiftness of his dismissal scarcely touched Blake. Already she was his sovereign lady—her look a command, her word paramount.
"As you will, princess!"
She held out her hand; and taking, he bowed over, but did not kiss it.
She smiled, conceiving his desire and his restraint.
"I shall convey to Max how charmingly you have entertained me, monsieur and, perhaps—" Her voice dropped to its softest note.
Blake looked up.
"Perhaps, princess—?"