Then he went to the
smoking-room and remained there until luncheon hour.
Today Mary Standish was ahead of him at the table. She was seated with
her back toward him as he entered, so she did not see him as he came up
behind her, so near that his coat brushed her chair. He looked across at
her and smiled as he seated himself. She returned the smile, but it
seemed to him an apologetic little effort. She did not look well, and
her presence at the table struck him as being a brave front to hide
something from someone. Casually he looked over his left shoulder.
Rossland was there, in his seat at the opposite side of the room.
Indirect as his glance had been, Alan saw the girl understood the
significance of it. She bowed her head a little, and her long lashes
shaded her eyes for a moment. He wondered why he always looked at her
hair first. It had a peculiarly pleasing effect on him. He had been
observant enough to know that she had rearranged it since breakfast, and
the smooth coils twisted in mysterious intricacy at the crown of her
head were like softly glowing velvet. The ridiculous thought came to
him that he would like to see them tumbling down about her. They must be
even more beautiful when freed from their bondage.
The pallor of her face was unusual. Possibly it was the way the light
fell upon her through the window.
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