"Afraid--"
He was going to add "Of what?" but caught the words and held them back.
The birch fire leaped up with a sudden roar into the chimney, and from
the heart of the flame he caught again that strange and all-pervading
thrill, the sensation of Derwent Conniston's presence very near to him.
It seemed to him that for an instant he caught a flash of Conniston's
face, and somewhere within him was a whispering which was Conniston's
voice. He was possessed by a weird and masterful force that swept over
him and conquered him, a thing that was more than intuition and greater
than physical desire. It was inspiration. He knew that the Englishman
would have him play the game as he was about to play it now.
The girl was waiting for him to answer. Her lips had grown a little
more tense. His hesitation, the restraint in his welcome of her, and
his apparent desire to evade that mysterious something which seemed to
mean so much to her had brought a shining pain into her eyes. He had
seen such a look in the eyes of creatures physically hurt. He reached
out with his hands and brushed back the thick, soft hair from about her
face. His fingers buried themselves in the silken disarray, and he
looked for a moment straight into her eyes before he spoke.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112