Daniel rose and drew forward a chair.
“Pardon me, madame,” he said gaily. “I forgot my manners. You see, I’m your brother and I don’t remember.”
She perched lightly on the arm of the chair, waving him back to his seat.
“It isn’t that,” she retorted quickly. “You don’t like me, monsieur!”
He leaned back in his own chair, watching her, wondering just what she meant.
“Perhaps you’re mistaken. Perhaps I do like you. Why shouldn’t I?”
She laughed, throwing one arm lightly across the back of the chair and letting the light flash on the jewels she wore on her small fingers—extraordinary jewels, Daniel thought, for William’s wife.
“Mais non, I know! I feel things here!” She touched her heart lightly, the dark eyes misting suddenly, the red lips trembling. “I—I can’t live unless I’m loved!”
“If we all felt like that there’d be a good many deaths,” Daniel remarked.
For a moment she made no reply, but her face seemed to grow pale and small and appealing.