Usk had left him, and was hastening round the corner of the house. As he reached the terrace, however, he saw the stranger already descending the steps to her carriage. She glanced over her shoulder at him—he noticed that her eyelids were artificially darkened—and laughed gaily when she saw his angry face. In a moment she was driving away, kissing her finger-tips lightly to Helene. The action raised Usk’s wrath to white heat.
“How dare you take up that woman?” he demanded fiercely of Helene. “Surely your own self-respect ought to have kept you from speaking to her.”
“I thought she wasn’t very nice,” murmured Helene, gazing at him with dilated eyes. “Her hair was such a strange colour—I think it must be false—and her skin looked—oh, so dead when she came close. But she sat down here by me, and talked.”
“She’s one of the most notorious women in Europe,” fumed Usk, “and now she’ll spread it abroad that you have noticed her and received her, and what will your people think of me for letting you do it?”
“But you couldn’t help it, nor could I,” pleaded Helene.
“Why didn’t you get rid of her, when you saw the kind of woman she was? I thought exalted persons like you always knew how to dispose of people who tried to force themselves upon your notice?”
“I don’t know how to be rude,” said Helene, with heightened colour. “No one who was unfit to speak to me has ever been allowed to come near me before.”
“That’s a nasty one for me!” said Usk, whose wrath was beginning to evaporate.
“Oh, Nym, I am so sorry; I didn’t mean it. And see, I will tell you how it was that I felt obliged to listen to her. I didn’t dare even to try to cut her short, lest I should lose something important. She talked about the dear Count.”
“I might have known it! More lies, I suppose?”