was best,” he added, as he closed the door after them. “We can talk freely now.”
He stepped to the inner door.
“Cecily!” he called.
She appeared in a moment, with eyelids a little puffed and red, but on the whole in much better spirits than I had expected. She was arrayed in all her finery—she had put on every piece of jewelry, I think—and she paused in the doorway to throw me a courtesy. Tremaine took her hand and led her to a seat, with a grace worthy of the Grand Monarque.
“See the spoiled child!” he said, laughing across the table at her, a moment later. “She’s been making herself miserable for nothing. In two weeks, we shall be together again at Fond-Corré.”
She answered his laugh with a thin smile, and shot me a glance pregnant with meaning. I knew she meant that her prophecy had come true.
He brimmed her glass with wine.
“Drink that,” he said. “To our meeting in two weeks.”
“To our meeting in two weeks!” she repeated ironically, and drained the glass.
But in a few moments the mood passed and she became quite gay. Not till then did it occur to me that Tremaine had made no reference to the tragedy at Edgemere. Then I caught myself just in time, for I remembered suddenly that I was not supposed to know he had been there.
“So you have been successful?” I asked finally.
“Yes, I believe so. I’ve succeeded in interesting
