small, panelled room, on the left of the hall, and on the west side of the house, the dining room was bright with the light of the setting sun, as the King entered. Late as he was himself, he was surprised to find that only Judith was there to receive him. She was standing at the window doors, which opened out of the room onto the verandah, gazing at the flaming glory of the sunset sky. Wearing a silver gown, that had a metallic glitter, which gave her something of a barbaric splendour, she seemed, at the moment, almost a stranger to the King. But she turned to welcome him with her usual friendly little nod, and smile.
"It will be no use our waiting for Uncle Bond," she announced. "He may be here, in a minute or two. Or he may not come for half an hour, or more. 'Cynthia' may have got a firm grip on him, you see. Uncle Bond, or perhaps I ought to say 'Cynthia,' hates being interrupted for meals. I never wait for him."
Sitting down at the foot of the dinner table, as she spoke, she waved the King into his place, on her right, facing the open window doors, and the view of the garden, and of the wooded landscape beyond, which they framed.
"I hope 'Cynthia' has got a firm grip on Uncle Bond," she went on. "I shall have you all to myself, then. You ought to have said that, you know. But you never make pretty speeches. That is why I said it for you."
The King sat down at the dinner table, and picked up his napkin, mechanically.
"Are pretty speeches allowed—between us?" he asked.
"Why not? Just for once?" Judith replied. "Why shouldn't we play at them, like a game with the Imps? Shall I begin? I will give you an opening. Do you like my dress? And my hair? I dressed for you. I know you like me, of course. But there are times, when a woman likes to be told—what she knows!"
The King was surprised, and not a little embarrassed. This was not the Judith he had expected. This was not the Judith of the afternoon. This was that other strange, dangerous Judith, of the night before. She had warned him that—it might happen again. True. But he had never imagined that it would happen again, so soon—
The entrance of the light-footed parlour-maid, in neat black, who was responsible for the service of the meal, at that moment, covered the King's silent confusion.
So long as the maid was in the room only trivial surface conversation was possible.