"Amused?" he echoed.
"Yes—amused. She laughed,—she looks very pretty when she laughs. And—and she seemed to fancy—"
He lifted himself upright in a sitting posture.
"Seemed to fancy? ... what?—"
"That I was not bad to look at—" and Manella, gathering sudden boldness, lifted her dark eyes to his face—"She said I could tell you that she thinks me quite beautiful! Yes!—quite beautiful!"
He smiled—a smile that was more like a sneer.
"So you are! I've told you so, often. 'There needs no ghost come from the grave' to emphasise the fact. But she—the purring cat!—she told you to repeat her opinion to me, because—can you guess why?"
"No!"
"Simpleton! Because she wishes you to convey to me the message that she considers me your lover and that she admires my taste! Now she'll go back to New York full of the story! Subtle little devil! But I am not your lover, and never shall be,—not even for half an hour!"
Manella sprang up from the turf where she had been sitting.