“Getting impatient?”
At these words, Bowden felt the blood running out of his veins. Then there came the rustle of a dress and Louise, in an Oriental negligée of gold, blended with greens and reds, came lightly to the door.
Garford had placed himself so that he could observe Bowden’s actions in the reflection of a mirror, while turning his back to him. The young man’s hand went up in frantic warning.
At the sight of her husband, she stood transfixed, unable to move or utter a sound, and the color went out of her face so abruptly that the dabs of rouge on her cheeks stood hideously out.
“Quite a surprise, isn’t it?” Garford said with a laugh.
She murmured something inaudible.
“What! You don’t kiss me?”
She looked at him a moment, looked at Bowden, and came slowly across the yellow Chinese rug, a long moment when she felt her knees sagging under her.
“He knows!” she said to herself. “Will he strangle me?”
And she reached him and offered up her cold lips. He kissed them. At the moment his arms touched her she could not repress a shudder.