Mr. Percy placed his hat upon a little table and tossing back his fair hair, said: "I think I can see her now."
Approaching the window he looked down upon the terrace.
Céline looked, too, and catching a gleam of crimson, said: "That is not Miss Arthur."
"Stop a moment, my girl," the man exclaimed.
He was gazing down at Cora, who was walking away from them, with a puzzled look. "Good God!" he ejaculated, as she turned and he saw her face.
He checked himself, and withdrawing hastily from the window, took up his hat as if about to depart. Approaching the window once again, he looked cautiously forth, and seeing Cora still pacing the terrace in evident unconcern, he muttered to himself, but quite audibly, "Thank goodness, she did not see me."
Then turning to Céline: "Girl, who is that woman?"
The girl approached the window: "That, monsieur, is Madame Cora Arthur."
"A widow, eh?"
"Oh, no, monsieur. Mr. Arthur is the master of Oakley."