"We were very young then," she said, waving her fan.
"It was not a year ago."
"We were young," she repeated, coldly.
"Yet I shall never forget, Dorothy."
She closed her fan and began to examine the fluffy plumes. Her cheeks were red, and she bit her lips continually.
"Do you particularly admire Molly Hesketh's hand?" she asked, indifferently.
He turned crimson. How could she know of the episode in the orangery? Know? There was no mystery in that; Molly Hesketh had told her. But Rickerl von Elster, loyal in little things, saw but one explanation—Dorothy must have seen him.
"Yes—I kissed her hand," he said. He did not add that Molly had dared him.
Dorothy raised her head with an icy smile.
"Is it honourable to confess such a thing?" she asked, in steady tones.