ope steadily returned the gaze of his pale eyes, as she replied, with
dignity:

"Yes; my uncle is from home. But I am not at all lonely. I am expecting
my brother every minute."

He smiled at her in a way that made her stiffen instinctively. She had
never been so completely alone with him before.

"Ah, well," he said, "perhaps you will allow me to amuse you till he
returns. I rather want to see him."

He took her permission for granted, and sat down in a bamboo chair on
the veranda, leaning back, and staring up at her with easy insolence.

"I can scarcely believe that you are not lonely here," he remarked. "A
figure of speech, I suppose?"

Hope felt the colour rising in her cheeks under his direct and
unpleasant scrutiny.

"I have never felt lonely till to-day," she returned, with spirit.

He laughed incredulously. "No?" he said.

"No," said Hope with emphasis. "I often think that there are worse
things in the world than solitude."

Something in her tone--its instinctive enmity, its absolute
honesty--attracted his attention. He sat up and regarded her very
closely.

She was still on her feet--a slender, upright figure in white. She was
grasping the back of a chair rather tightly, but she did not shrink from
his look, though there was that within her which revolted fiercely as
she met it. But he prolonged the silent combat with brutal intention,
till at last, in spite of herself, her eyes sank, and she made a slight,
unconscious gesture of protest. Then, deliberately and insultingly, he
laughed.

"Come now, Miss Carteret," he said, "I'm sure you can't mean to be
unfriendly with me. I believe this place gets on your nerves. You're not
looking well, you know."

"No?" she responded, with frozen dignity.

"Not so well as I should like to see you," said Hyde, still smiling his
objectionable smile. "I believe you're moped. Isn't that it? I know the
symptoms, and I know an excellent remedy, too. Wouldn't you like to try
it?"

Hope looked at him uncertainly. She was quivering all over with nervous
apprehension. His manner frightened her. She was not sure that the man
was absolutely sober. But it would be absurd, ridiculous, she told her
thumping heart, to take offence, when it might very well be that the
insult existed in her imagination alone. So, with a desperate courage,
she stood her ground.

"I really don't know what you mean," she said coldly. "But it doesn't
matter; tell me about your racer instead!"