But her voice was not so indifferent as she would have had it; her eyes were anxious.
"They are saying that you are engaged to Mortlake."
Jimmy's eyes never left her face; it was a tragic moment for him.
Cynthia's white hands clasped each other nervously.
"Are they?" she said. "How—how very amusing."
Her eyes had fallen now; he could only see the outline of darkened lashes against her cheek.
He waited a moment, then he strode forward—he covered the space between them in a stride; he put a hand beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Is it true?" he asked. "Is it true?"
His voice was strangled; his breath came tearing from between clenched teeth.
Cynthia shivered away from him, back against the pile of silken cushions behind her.
"Don't hurt me, Jimmy; don't hurt me," she whimpered.