"Go that side," he repeated, sharply.
At last she moved over by Raleigh and stood there, gazing down still.
"Look up," said Iden. She looked up hastily—above the canvas, and then again at the floor.
Iden's dim old eyes rested a moment on the pair as they stood together; Amaryllis gazing downwards, Raleigh gazing at her. Thoughts of a possible alliance, perhaps, passed through Iden's mind; only consider, intermarriage between the Pamments and the Idens! Much more improbable things have happened; even without the marriage license the connection would be an immense honour.
Grandfather Iden, aged ninety years, would most certainly have sacrificed the girl of sixteen, his own flesh and blood, joyously and intentionally to his worship of the aristocrat.
If she could not have been the wife he would have forced her to be the mistress.
There is no one so cruel—so utterly inhuman—as an old man, to whom feeling, heart, hope have long been dead words.
"Now you can see," he said, softly and kindly. "Is it not noble?"
"It looks smoky," said Amaryllis, lifting her large, dark eyes at last and looking her grandfather in the face.
"Smoky!" he ejaculated, dropping his great white hat, his sunken cheeks flushing. It was not so much the remark as the tone of contemptuous rebellion.