"I'm all right, thank you," she said, almost roughly. "Don't bother about me."
"Who could help bothering about a pretty woman?" Valentine answered suavely, and approaching his chair a little more closely to her. "Do you know that my friend Addison can talk of nobody but you?"
"Oh!"
"Nobody. He raves about you."
"You're laughing," the lady said, still uncomfortably.
"Not at all. I never laugh."
As he made this last remark, Valentine slowly frowned. The effect of this change of expression upon the lady was most extraordinary. She leaned far back upon the sofa as if in retreat from the face that stared upon her, mechanically thrusting out her hands in a faltering gesture of self-defence. Then, planting her feet on the ground and using them as a lever, she succeeded in moving the sofa backwards upon its castors, which ran easily over the thick carpet. Valentine, on his part, did not stir, but with immovable face regarded her apparent terror as a man regards some spectacle neither new nor strange to him, silently awaiting its eventual closing tableau. What this would have been cannot be known, for at this moment the bell rang and the butler was heard moving in the hall. The frown faded from Valentine's face, and the lady sprang up from the sofa with a violent, almost a passionate, eagerness. Julian entered hastily.
"Why was you late?" Cuckoo Bright cried out, hastening up to him and speaking almost angrily. "Why was you late? I didn't think—I didn't—oh!"
Her voice sounded like the voice of one on the verge of tears. Julian looked astonished.
"I am very sorry," he began. "But I didn't know you would be here so soon."