“None other,” bowed Nick, smiling.
“I’m delighted!” cried Vic, rising to offer her hand. “I do hope you bring some encouraging news, or possibly my lost gems themselves—despite that I predicted only failure for you.”
The last was added with a fascinating laugh, in which Nick was willing enough to join, though he found nothing inviting in her seductive eyes and alluring airs.
“Well, hardly anything as favorable as that, Madame Victoria,” he began.
“No, no, pardon me!” she interrupted, playfully tapping him on the arm. “You surely do not call again to consult me professionally?”
“No, I do not.”
“Then drop the Madame Victoria, my dear Mr. Carter, which is much too strained for friendly intercourse,” she softly cried, with an arch glance at him. “Let me be to you plain Miss Clayton—or even plain Victoria, so be it that suits you even better.”
Nick experienced a vague feeling of distrust stealing through him as he looked and listened, but in his ignorance of what herein has been disclosed, he could find no definite grounds for the feeling. Yet, instinctively, as one sometimes dreads dangers still remote and visionary, he did not fancy this woman’s bantering remarks nor her playful attempts to captivate him.
Nick laughed again, nevertheless, and agreeably rejoined:
“As I told you the other day, Miss Clayton, it matters little to me what I call you, providing you consent to comply with my wishes.”