When she came in he did not hear her until she spoke.
"Don't throw your cigarette away, monsieur; I permit you to smoke--indeed, I command it. How do you do?" This in very timid English. "I mean--good-morning--oh, dear, this terrible English language! Now you may sit there, in that large leather arm-chair, and you may tell me why you did not appear at breakfast. Is Monsieur Grahame still sleeping? Gone? Oh, dear! And you have been to the Château de Nesville? Is my father well? And contented? There, I knew he would miss me. Did you give him my dearest love? Thank you for remembering. Now tell me--"
"What?" laughed Jack.
"Everything, of course."
"Everything?"
She looked at him, but did not answer.
Then he deliberately sat down and made love to her, not actual, open, unblushing love--but he started in to win her, and what his tongue refused to tell, his eyes told until trepidation seized her, and she sat back speechless, watching him with shy blue eyes that always turned when they met his, but always returned when his were lowered.
It is a pretty game, this first preliminary of love--like the graceful sword-play and salute of two swordsmen before a duel. There was no one to cry "Garde à vous!" no one to strike up the weapons that were thrust at two unarmoured hearts, for the weapons were words and glances, and Love, the umpire, alas! was not impartial.
So the timid heart of Lorraine was threatened, and, before she knew it, the invasion had begun. She did not repel it with desperation; at times, even, she smiled at the invader, and that, if not utter treachery, was giving aid and encouragement to the enemy.
Besieged, threatened, she sat there in the arm-chair, half frightened, half smiling, fearful yet contented, alarmed yet secure, now resisting, now letting herself drift on, until the result of the combination made Jack's head spin; and he felt resentful in his heart, and he said to himself what all men under such circumstances say to themselves--"Coquetry!"
One moment he was sure she loved him, the next he was certain she did not. This oscillation between heaven and hell made him unhappy, and, manlike, he thought the fault was hers. This is the foundation for man's belief in the coquetry of women.
As for Lorraine, she thrilled with a gentle fear that was the most delightful sensation she had ever known. She looked shyly at the strong-limbed, sunburned young fellow opposite, and she began to wonder why he was so fascinating. Every turn of his head, every gesture, every change in his face she knew now--knew so well that she blushed at her own knowledge.