“That’s what maw said,” returned the young woman, simply, yet with the faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek.
“I mean,” said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, “that this—er—gentleman—is in fact—er—one of my clients.”
“That’s what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will make it all the easier for you,” said the young woman.
A slight flush crossed the Colonel’s cheek as he returned quickly and a little stiffly, “On the contrary—er—it may make it impossible for me to—er—act in this matter.”
The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath as the long lashes were raised to his level. Even to an ordinary observer that sudden revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else the Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets plucked from him—his whole soul laid bare—his vanity, belligerency, gallantry—even his medieval chivalry, penetrated, and yet illuminated, in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, he felt that a greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly. “I mean—this matter may be arranged—er—amicably. My interest with—and as you wisely say—my—er—knowledge of my client—er—Mr. Hotchkiss—may affect—a compromise.”
“And damages,” said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if she had never looked up.
The Colonel winced. “And—er—undoubtedly compensation—if you do not press a fulfilment of the promise. Unless,” he said, with an attempted return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the recollection of her eyes made difficult, “it is a question of—er—the affections?”
“Which?” said his fair client, softly.
“If you still love him?” explained the Colonel, actually blushing.