"Let me look at you," she said, drawing off and raising her eyes to his thoughtfully, while her lips twisted a little into a most serious sternness.
"Little imp!" he thought grimly, prepared against her wiles and yet a little startled at this figure of a young girl which so tantalizingly confronted him.
She saw at once, in the amused composure of his face, that she had been mistaken in ascribing his absence to the pique of jealousy. What she had on her lips she did not say, and suddenly alert at the realization that her presence no longer troubled him she drew him toward the fireplace, leading him to a great armchair.
"There," she said, laughing, "you will see how we treat the prodigal son. Sit down." She brought a cushion and insisted upon placing it behind his back. "Don't get up. A scotch and soda? Sit still—I like to mix it."
She went to a table and presently came back with the tumbler, offering it to him with a well simulated attitude of submission. When he took it, she dropped a curtsey and going to the library table, returned with a box of cigars and the matches. Continuing always the same game, determined to force a laugh, she lit the match, holding it to him between her rosy palms.
"Is your lordship satisfied?"
"I am."
She lit a cigarette in turn and camping down on the bear rug, Eastern fashion, puffed a ring of smoke in the direction of the fire. For a moment neither spoke, she studying the embers, he enjoying this new side to her and awaiting the next development.
"I'm very unhappy," she said at last, without looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he answered sympathetically.