Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. ‘So I shall do so. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. Father— dead. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. ‘Therefore she cannot be the daughter of Suzanne Valade. When Capes glanced up at them for a moment, Manning seemed to be holding his arms all about her, and there was nothing but quiet acquiescence in her bearing. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. . . Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips.
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