Fanchon laughed, half-apologetic, half-coquettish; but she found herself hurried out into the hall.
“Who’s that fellow?” asked William sharply. She was still laughing, half hysterical.
“Caraffi’s manager, Aristide Corwin—I’ve known him for ages.”
William grunted.
“Looks like a Monte Carlo gambler,” he said, and signaled for a taxi.
X
Virginia bade Lucas stop the horses. The old wagonette was on its way out to Denbigh Crossing, and Daniel Carter had just come in sight. Virginia thought she had never seen him look so pale.
“He looks ill, and his limp is bad, too, poor fellow!” she breathed to herself; but she smiled, leaning over the back of the seat to shake hands.
“Where have you kept yourself, Dan?” she asked kindly, with the sweetness in her tone that Daniel had come to recognize as pity. “Grandfather has been asking for you.”
“I’m afraid he wants the book he lent me,” said Daniel, looking up at her and aware of the softness of her glance. She looked lovely, that same old shade hat looped down and the knot of pink under her chin; but the muslin dress was dotted white Swiss this time, with a little opening at the neck that showed a lovely throat. “I’ll bring it back this week.”