“Then—you wish I hadn’t come?”
“Yes,”—slowly. “I think I do wish that.”
She looked at him a little wistfully.
“Is that why you were angry—because I’ve come here? Lady Anne and—and Mr. Brennan seemed quite pleased,” she added as though in protest.
“No doubt. Nick, lucky devil, has no need to economise in magic moments.”
She felt her cheeks flush under the look he bent upon her, but she forced herself to meet it.
“And—and you?” she questioned very low.
“I have”—briefly.
It was long before sleep visited Jean that night The events of the day marched processionally through her mind, and her thoughts persisted in clustering round the baffling, incomprehensible personality of Blaise Tormarin.
His extreme bitterness of speech she ascribed to the unfortunate episode that lay in his past. But she could find no reason for his strange, expressed wish to disregard their former meeting at Montavan—to wipe out, as it were, all recollection of it.