The long lashes dropped over the brown eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“That I have a personal interest—in you, Hope.”
She stood silent, her bosom rising and falling to rapid breathing.
“You don't mind my calling you Hope? I haven't got used to Miss Waite yet.”
Her eyes met his swiftly.
“Of course, not. Such ceremony would be foolish after all you have done for me. Do—do you call her Christie?”
He laughed, clasping her hands closer.
“I assure you no—she is strictly Miss Maclaire, and,” solemnly, “shall be to the end of the chapter.”
“Oh, well, I didn't care, only that was what you called her when you were telling me what she said. Are you going?”