“Good evening, Mr. Trench,� she said, with that bewitching little drawl of hers, which made her voice almost caressing and deceived the unwary. “Your dog remembers me more often than you do.�
Caleb’s face stiffened. Oh, the mockery of women! “I remember you more often than you remember me,� he replied courteously.
Diana bit her lip. She had not expected this, and she hated him for it; yet he had never looked so strong and fine as he did to-night. In the soft light the harsh lines were softened, the power remained, and something of sweetness in the eyes. “Oh,� she said, “have I ever failed to remember you?�
Trench made no direct reply, but smiled. Something in her way, at the moment, was very girlish, the whim of a spoiled child. She had been gathering some ferns, and she arranged them elaborately, standing in the path. His attitude vexed her, his manner was so detached; she was accustomed to adulation. She swept him a look from under her thick dark lashes. “I remember dancing with you at Kitty Broughton’s ball,� she observed.
“You were very kind,� he replied at once, “I remember it, too; you danced with me twice.�
“Because I promised to dance if you asked me; I promised Judge Hollis,� she said demurely.
“But the second?� Caleb was human, and his heart quickened under the spell of her beauty. “I hope that was on my own account.�
“The second?� Diana rearranged the ferns. “I danced then because my cousin did not wish me to,� she said.
Trench reddened. “I am sorry that you felt compelled to do it—twice,� he said involuntarily, for he was angry.
“You are very rude,� replied Diana, unmoved.