The devil take him for that kiss!
A somewhat set look upon his thin face guarded the fluctuations of his soul, but the blood rose strongly under his dark skin.
For a moment he did not venture upon a reply, and in that moment he was suddenly aware that she had caught his meaning from him—and that it was a horrible mistake. It was one of those instants of highly-charged exchanges of meanings whose revelation was as useless to be denied as powerless to be explained.
Then her words came in tumultuous, passionate refutation of his thought. "That is what my father had come to tell me—that he had arranged my marriage. It is a very splendid thing. To a general—a rich general!"
She had not meant to tell him like that! But for the moment she was savagely glad to hurl it at him.
He made no answer. His eyes were inscrutably intent. A variety of things were rearranging themselves in his head.
"You're—you're going to marry him?" he said slowly.
"What else?" But she felt the phrase unfortunate and plunged past it. "It is not for me to say no, monsieur. It is for my father to arrange."
"But his indulgence—? You were telling me, you know, that he was so fond of you. And that you were one of the moderns—the revolting moderns—"
Jack Ryder's tone was questioningly cynical and its raillery cut through her brief sham of pride.