"
Slowly Beverly Calhoun set the candlestick down upon the table her eyes
meeting his with steady disdain.
"What a rare old jester you are, Count Marlanx," she said without a
smile." If I thought you were in earnest I should scream with
laughter. May I suggest that we join the countess? We must hurry along,
you know. She and I have promised to play tennis with the princess at
three o'clock." The count's glare of disappointment lasted but a moment.
The diplomacy of egotism came to his relief, and he held back the gift
for another day, but not for another woman.
"It grieves me to have you hurry away. My afternoon is to be a dull one,
unless you permit me to watch the tennis game," he said.
"I thought you were interested only in the game of war," she said
pointedly.
"I stand in greater awe of a tennis ball than I do of a cannonball, if
it is sent by such an arm as yours," and he not only laid his eyes but
his hand upon her bare arm. She started as if something had stung her,
and a cold shiver raced over her warm flesh. His eyes for the moment
held her spellbound. He was drawing the hand to his lips when a shadow
darkened the French window, and a saber rattled warningly.
Count Marlanx looked up instantly, a scowl on his face. Baldos stood at
the window in an attitude of alert attention. Beverly drew her arm away
spasmodically and took a step toward the window.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169