“And you slept—?”
“More or less,” she said with light contempt.
“More rather than less, if one may judge by your looks,” the Raja of Rukh told her with something of warmth and emphasized admiration in eyes and tone. Lucilla Crespin did not trouble to meet his eyes, but she heard the tone.
“Does it matter?” she retorted scornfully.
“What can matter more than the looks of a beautiful woman?” the Raja asked softly.
“What’s that?” she exclaimed less listlessly, lifting her head suddenly, and listening.
“The click of billiard balls,” Rukh told her. “Your husband and Dr. Traherne are passing the time.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said ceremoniously, as she rose, “I’ll join them.”
But the man did not intend that. “Oh,” he said with mingled deference and insistence, “pray spare me a few moments. I want to speak to you seriously.”
She threw him a look then. There was nothing in it that he liked. But he only smiled back at her pleasantly. He could wait. The Raja of Rukh was skilled in waiting, as he was at most things.