Her eyes agleam between half-closed lids, she studied him. It occurred to Ryder that probably never before had her hands been detached—and kissed—and put away. He must be a phenomenon, an enigma.
Then her lips parted in a faintly scornful smile.
"You afraid—you? You want—run?"
"I'm horribly afraid," he said earnestly. "I want to get out of here as quick as I can."
That was putting, he considered, the very wisest construction upon it.
Negligently her gesture reminded him of the opening in the window. "Here you are safe." she murmured in the vernacular. "And the doors are locked—"
"Yes, but—but Aimée isn't safe, you know—and I must get her out of here."
"Aimée?" In those yellow eyes he caught the flash of capricious resentment at the reminder. Then, indifferently, she brushed the distraction away.
"There is time enough for Aimée. She is not lonely now."
"Not lonely?" he shivered at the cold carelessness of her tone. "I must get to her quickly then."