His crooked eyes
were fixed upon the face of the girl. "You go too far."
"Be watching, my friend, that you also go not too far."
The tones were silvery as ever, but the menace unmistakable. Gianapolis
forced a harsh laugh and brushed up his mustache furiously.
"What are you driving at?" he demanded, with some return of
self-confidence. "Am I to be treated to another exhibition of your
insane jealousies?"...
"AH!" The girl's eyes opened widely; she darted another venomous glance
at him. "I am sure now, I am SURE!"
"My dear Mahara, you talk nonsense!"
"Ah!"
She glided sinuously toward him, still with one hand resting upon her
hip, stood almost touching his shoulder and raised her beautiful wicked
face to his, peering at him through half-closed eyes, and resting the
hand which grasped the fan lightly upon his arm.
"You think I do not see? You think I do not watch?"--softer and softer
grew the silvery voice--"at Olaf van Noord's studio you think I do not
hear? Perhaps you not thinking to care if I see and hear--for it seem
you not seeing nor hearing ME. I watch and I see. Is it her so soft
brown hair? That color of hair is so more prettier than ugly black!
Is it her English eyes? Eyes that born in the dark forests of Burma so
hideous and so like the eyes of the apes! Is it her white skin and her
red cheeks? A brown skin--though someone, there was, that say it is
satin of heaven--is so tiresome; when no more it is a new toy it does
not interest".
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