“Pardon! I haf’ forgot!” he wheezed out between the spasms.
The woman went over to Mortimer and put out her gloved hand.
“I am Mrs. Malplaquet,” she said in a pleasant voice. “And you are Mr. Mortimer, I think!”
Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
“Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing but praise,” he said.
“Verry pretty!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. “They tell me you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!”
“But,” she went on, “I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr. Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years younger!”
The keen black eyes searched Desmond’s face. He felt horribly uncomfortable. The woman’s eyes were like gimlets boring right into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered Crook’s warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly quailed.
“I am so glad to meet you again!” he murmured. He didn’t like Mrs. Malplaquet’s eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black eyes. They put him in mind of a snake.
“It is so long since I’ve seen you,” she said, “that positively your voice seems to have changed.”