He saw only her eyes at first, wide-open, strange, frightened eyes. And
then he saw the pallor of her face as she came slowly in, without
waiting for him to speak or give her permission to enter. And it was
Mary Standish herself who closed the door, while he stared at her in
stupid wonderment--and stood there with her back against it, straight
and slim and deathly pale.
"May I come in?" she asked.
"My God, you're in!" gasped Alan. "_You're in_."
CHAPTER VII
That it was past midnight, and Mary Standish had deliberately come to
his room, entering it and closing the door without a word or a nod of
invitation from him, seemed incredible to Alan. After his first
explosion of astonishment he stood mute, while the girl looked at him
steadily and her breath came a little quickly. But she was not excited.
Even in his amazement he could see that. What he had thought was fright
had gone out of her eyes. But he had never seen her so white, and never
had she appeared quite so slim and childish-looking as while she stood
there in these astounding moments with her back against the door.
The pallor of her face accentuated the rich darkness of her hair. Even
her lips were pale. But she was not embarrassed. Her eyes were clear and
unafraid now, and in the poise of her head and body was a sureness of
purpose that staggered him.
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