She laughed.
"That champagne was certainly too strong for you," she said.
She never seemed tired; all go, no matter how late the hour; her flow of spirits seldom flagged, her eyes always shone brightly, her complexion never failed her; she was really a remarkable woman. No one knew what an effort it cost her to keep up appearances—alone a change came over her, the reaction set in. She did not care to be alone, at times she was afraid.
"What do you think of Rolfe?" he asked.
"In what way?"
"All ways, as far as you can judge from what you have seen to-day, and to-night," he said.
She was thoughtful. He watched her; the jealous feeling came uppermost again.
"I think," she said slowly, "he is a man who has had a great deal of trouble, suffered much, probably on account of a woman. I think he is a strong man, that he is determined, and if he has an object in view he will attain it, no matter what the obstacles in his way. Probably he has traveled, seen a good deal of the world, had strange experiences. He has remarkable eyes, they pierce, probe into one, search out things. He is a fine looking man, well built, but has probably had a severe illness not long ago. I think I shall like him; he is worth cultivating, making a friend of."
She spoke as though no one were present. Fletcher Denyer felt for the time being he was forgotten and resented it.
"You have analyzed him closely; you must be a character reader. Have you ever turned your battery of close observation on me?" he asked snappishly.