If you find yourself able to
treat me as a servant it will be my pleasure to serve you."
She did not understand his tone. It seemed to her that he was trying in
some fashion to warn her. Again the memory of his kiss swept over her;
again to the very heart of her she shrank.
"I think," she said slowly, "that I am more your prisoner than your
guest, Monsieur Dumaresq."
"It is not always quite wise to express our thoughts," he rejoined, with
deliberate cynicism. "I have ventured to point that out to you before."
Again he baffled her. She looked at him doubtfully. He was standing up
beside her on the point of departure. He returned her gaze with his
steely eyes almost as though he challenged her to penetrate to the
citadel they guarded.
With a sharp sigh she abandoned the contest. "I wish I understood you,"
she said.
He jerked his shoulders expressively.
"You knew me a week ago better than I knew myself," he remarked. "What
more would you have?"
She did not answer him. She only moved her head upon the pillow with a
gesture of weariness. She knew that she would search those pitiless eyes
in vain for the key to the puzzle, and she only longed to be left alone.
He could not, surely, refuse to grant her unspoken desire.
Yet for a moment it seemed that he would prolong the interview. He stood
above her, motionless, arrogant, frowning downwards as though he had
something more to say.
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