Feeling his disadvantage, yet
determined to gain his end, he made a last attempt.
"How did you amuse yourself at Grosvenor Square this morning
before Eve came to you?" he asked. The effort was awkwardly
blunt, but it was direct.
Lillian was buttoning her glove. She did not raise her head
as he spoke, but her fingers paused in their task. For a
second she remained motionless, then she looked up slowly.
"Oh," she said, sweetly, "so I was right in my guess? You did
come to find out whether I sat in the morning-room with my
hands in my lap--or wandered about in search of entertainment?"
Loder colored with annoyance and apprehension. Every look,
every tone of Lillian's was distasteful to him. No microscope
could have revealed her more fully to him than did his own
eyesight. But it was not the moment for personal antipathies;
there were other interests than his own at stake. With new
resolution he returned her glance.
"Then I must still ask my first question, why did you say, 'I
thought it would be you?'" His gaze was direct--so direct
that it disconcerted her.
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