"At last," she says, in her well-trained, softly-toned voice. "Welcome, Vane!"
He touches the white, extended hand very lightly, and takes the chair she places.
"I was passing, and I thought I would look in upon you a few moments," he observes, with unblushing nonchalance.
"I am thankful for even that small grace," Maud answers, with her most winning smile. "I know I have been a very bad girl to you, Vane, but I think if you knew how sincere my repentance is you would not mind coming now and then to cheer my lonely hours."
Then she drops her eyes and sighs. Vane looks at the fair, calm, languid beauty in wondering silence. A little while ago this had been his idea of perfect beauty. Since then he has learned to love the slumberous fire that glows in dark eyes and the soul that dwells on scarlet lips and dusky, brunette complexions. The sweetness of the rose has won his heart, but the beauty of the lily unconsciously charms his eyes even now when he knows how false she is at heart, and only fair in outward seeming.
"I—I have no time for calling," he responds, with cool politeness. "I am always busy."
"Always?" she arches her golden brows slightly. "That is unfortunate. I suppose, then, that I may abandon the hope that I have been secretly cherishing, that you would relent and take the management of my property."
Vane regards her in apparent surprise.
"Is it possible you have found no one else?" he inquires, carelessly.
"I told you I should not try until I heard from you," she answers.