But whether in Elorn’s heart there really existed all the gaiety that laughed at him out of her grey eyes, is a question. Because it seemed to her that, at moments, a recurrent shadow fell across his face. And there were, now and then, seconds suggesting preoccupation on his part, when it seemed to her that his gaze grew remote and his smile a trifle absent-minded.
She was drawing on her gloves; he had scribbled his signature across the back of the check. Then, as he lifted his head to look for their waiter, he found himself staring into the brown eyes of Palla Dumont.
The heavy flush burnt his face––burnt into it, so it seemed to him.
She was only two tables distant. When he bowed, her smile was the slightest; her nod coolly self-possessed. She was wearing orchids. There seemed to be a girl with her whom he did not know.
Why the sudden encounter should have upset him 127 so––why the quiet glance Elorn bestowed upon Palla should have made him more uncomfortable still, he could not understand.
He lighted a cigarette.
“A wonderfully pretty girl,” said Elorn serenely. “I mean the girl you bowed to.”
“Yes, she is very charming.”
“Who is she, Jim?”