CHAPTER XXIX
THAT evening, as they were walking up the hall from the dining-room to the verandah, Lee put her hand on Randolph’s arm and drew him into the parlour.
“I want to tell you something,” she said nervously. “You know I have always loved Cecil Maundrell. I am going to marry him.”
“So I have inferred.”
The room was dark. She could not see his face.
“I am so glad you don’t mind. You used to fancy yourself in love with me—that was the only thing that worried me. I’m afraid I’m hopelessly conceited.”
“You have every reason to be. Maundrell has floored me. I respect him. But, as I remarked once, an American never stays on his back.”
“You’ll forget me? You’ll marry Coralie?”
He brought his hand down on her shoulder and jerked her close to him. She could see his white face dimly.
“I mean that sooner or later—this year or ten years from now—I will have you, and that you will come to me of your own accord.”
“I never will! What a detestable—— No matter what happened, I’d never love any man but Cecil Maundrell! I belong to him!”
“We shall see.”
He left her then and went out to the verandah. Lee heard his light laugh a moment later.
“He certainly can be serious,” she thought; “but I’m sure he hates it. That laugh means either that he’s delighted to forget his momentary drop, or that he’s past master of the great national game of bluff. In his way he’s not uninteresting.”