“What, then?––you are only jesting with me?”
“Truly, I do not know his name.”
“Yet you are in love with him?”
“I am not quite certain even of that,” and she smiled mockingly; “sometimes I have a fancy it may be witchcraft. I only know I am haunted––have been haunted four long weeks by a face, a voice, and two blue eyes.”
“Blue?” Dumaresque glanced in the mirror––his own eyes were blue.
“Yes, Monsieur Loris––blue with a dash of grey––the grey of the sea when clouds are heavy, and the blue of the farthest waves before the storm breaks––don’t you see the color?”
“Only the color of your fancy. He is the owner of blue eyes, a haunting voice, and––what else is my rival?”
“A foreigner, and––Monsieur Incognito.”
“You have met?”
“Three times;” and she held up as many white fingers. The reply evidently astounded Dumaresque.