“Enough, madam,” he returned in an icy tone. “I have but then to say that your brother having, by means he will himself explain, discovered your abode, will be here to night to see you.”
Lotte bowed, and remained silent.
Mark twisted his hat round and round, looked at the door and gazed wistfully at her, but she stood immoveable, she pressed the infant to her bosom, and she never once raised her eyes to his.
Her face was white as marble, yet he was sure he never saw her look so handsome—so beautifully interesting. Mark lingered. Could she be a guilty creature?
It seemed impossible. Yet that child! coupled with her sudden flight, her continued and inexplicable absence. What other interpretation could he put upon her conduct?
He gave a slight “Hem,” to clear his voice, and then said—
“You will see your brother when he comes, this evening?”
Her eyelids slightly trembled.
“Why do you ask that question?” she asked, sternly.
“Because,” he returned almost fiercely, “he will not come to you if you wish him not to do so, for then he will know that he should not come.”