The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. Sir Rowland is one of us," he added, winking at his companions, "and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. Honestly, I never did. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady.
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