"I had a suspicion that the vision at the window—though it was there only an instant—was you! So you saw Mademoiselle Ricci?"
His tone was assurance itself. Kitty disdained to answer. Her slight gesture bade him let her pass through; but he ignored it.
"I find her kind, Lady Kitty. She listens to me—I get sympathy from her."
"And you want sympathy?"
Her tone stung him. "As a hungry man wants food—as an artist wants beauty. But I know where I shall not get it."
"That is always a gain!" said Kitty, throwing back her little head. "Mr. Cliffe, pray let me bid you good-bye."
He suddenly made a step forward. "Lady Kitty!"—his deep-set, imperious eyes searched her face—"I can't restrain myself. Your look—your expression—go to my heart. Laugh at me if you like. It's true. What have you been doing with yourself?"
He bent towards her, scrutinizing every delicate feature, and, as it seemed, shaken with agitation. She breathed fast.
"Mr. Cliffe, you must know that any sympathy from you to me—is an insult! Kindly let me pass."
He, too, flushed deeply.