anger was not theatric also. But that was deadly real, and
real, too, was the sudden surge of color into the young man's sallow
face.

"You are kind to my roses--if not to me," he said quickly, and held
out his hand for the brief little clasp she accorded.

"Your roses are dumb and have said nothing to make me cross," she
laughed lightly, and looked swiftly about her. "How lovely this is,"
she ran on, "and how charming to feel a breeze. That room is rather
warm and close.... Is you sister still too ill to come?"

And scarcely waiting for the assent which he began to frame with his
searching eyes upon her, she added, "I am afraid I made her angry
last night by intruding upon her. But I heard her voice and ran back
to her room to ask after her. She wouldn't let me stay at all."

It was droll how natural her voice sounded, she thought. His eyes
held their fixed scrutiny in an instant, then dropped carelessly
away, as he drew forward the wicker chairs. "She is a _nerveuse_,
you understand," he said with an air of indolent resignation, "and
one can do nothing for that sort of thing. A crisis comes--one must
wait for it to pass.... She regrets that condition.... And she
wished me to present her regrets to you," he added suavely, "for
that reception of you last night. She was ill and did not expect
you--and she did not wish you to see her in that condition."

"I should not have gone," acknowledged Arlee, "but, as I said, I
heard voices from the ante-room and thought I would like to see
her.... That pretty little maid she gave me does not speak any
English, so I cannot send any messages."

"But you can write them."

"My French spelling is worse than my pronunciation!" She laughed
amusedly. "I wish you would find me an interpreter to put my polite
remarks into polite sounding phrases. I know I put things like a
First Reader!"

He smiled. "You do not put them like a First Reader to me. _We_ do
not need an interpreter.... Unless I need one to speak to you?"

"Oh, no, your English is wonderful!" She waited an instant, then
took a breathless plunge. "Have you any more news for me?" she
demanded, forcing the note of expectancy. It would be suspicious,
indeed, if she did not ask that. But what if he had decided to throw
the pretense aside----

"Not one word of news more," he said slowly.

She felt him watching her as she looked down on her plate. The
pretty little girl was passing a platter of pigeon: Arlee did not
spea