"More limited, but assuredly not less desirable," Glyndon returned gallantly; and the dwelling of his soft eyes on the girl brought the rose to her cheeks.
"Come," she cried peremptorily to hide her confusion, "let me go in and get my things or I shall be late for mass."
Dunvegan thought to wait upon her, but the English clerk sprang in first.
"It is for me to serve," he declared. "I must learn my business."
And the chief trader experienced a pang of intense jealousy as he watched the laughter and badinage of the two across the counter while Desirée made her purchases. He glowered in dark envy and strode out on to the steps. When the girl danced gaily over the threshold, he did not speak.
Glyndon rejoined him, his eyes devouring the lithe, swinging form of Desirée Lazard as she rushed home humming a little French song under her breath.
"Jove!" he exclaimed. "Did you ever see such a figure? Look at the inswell of the torso to the waist and the outswell over the hips——"
But Dunvegan's hand falling like a great weight on his shoulder cut short the speech. Glyndon felt that grip clear through his body; felt his collar bone bend beneath the chief trader's thumb, and he winced.
"Glyndon, never admire a woman in that way," Bruce warned. "Never, I say! Do you understand me?"
The English clerk slunk back under the powerful menace in Dunvegan's glance.