"You are vamping up an excuse!" cries Cecilia, reddening. "I see it in your eyes. You cannot have made any engagements here yet. You do not know anybody, do you, except the Le Marchants?"
"And they have gone to Hammam Rhira," replies he precipitately.
He is ashamed the moment that the words are out of his mouth, for he knows that they convey a falsehood.
"At least——"
But she interrupts him before he can add his conscience clause.
"To-morrow, then?"
Again he hesitates. The same objections apply with even greater force to the morrow.
"But the band does not play to-morrow."
"Oh! what does that matter?" rejoins she impatiently. "I had just as soon go somewhere else—the Arab town, the Kabyle village, anywhere."
He is driven into a corner, and remains there silent so long that there is a distinct element of offence in the tone and large sigh with which the girl resumes.