“I could not think that blush was for me—that beautiful color that stole over you when I came in. It couldn’t be for me, when you have avoided me so pointedly. So I concluded, of course, that it was either the reflection from that brick wall out there, or was called forth by the thought of my rival.”
“I will not say that it was the brick wall,” said Dosia, yielding to the light, heady spirit he always roused in her, with, also, the little under-knowledge of her secret dream.
“Then I will not say it was the rival,” said Lawson. He added in a lower tone: “And I wouldn’t give it up to any rival; I saw it—it was mine.”
“You claim a great deal,” returned Dosia, wishing that she had the strength of mind to go and leave him, yet loath to lose a moment of this converse.
He shook his head as he answered gently: “No, you are mistaken there; I claim nothing. I have no rights—only privileges. I hope it’s going to be my privilege to have a little of your charming society in the next few days. I shall be at home, perforce; I’ve lost my position.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” said Dosia, with her quick sympathy. He raised one hand deprecatingly, while the other still weaved in and out in a pianissimo accompaniment.
“Sorry? For me? Oh, that’s not the thing to say, at all. You should condemn my inability to keep the place.”
“Why do you talk like this?” asked Dosia, with a pained feeling.
“Why do you run when you see me coming?” He flashed a quizzical glance at her.
“I don’t,” she began to say, but her words trailed off into an inarticulate murmur.