"Yes, madame--because?" he asked, offering her a chair. He
was dressed in simple black, as on that first day when he called at the
Manor, and it set off the ivory paleness of his complexion, making his
face delicate yet strong.
She looked round the room, almost casually, before she went on
"Because what I have to say were better said to you alone--much better."
"I am sure you are right," he answered, as though he trusted her judgment
utterly; and truly there was always something boy-like in his attitude
towards her. The compliment was unstudied and pleasant, but she steeled
herself for her task. She knew instinctively that she had influence with
him, and she meant to use it to its utmost limit.
"I am glad, we are all glad, you are better," she said cordially; then
added, "how do your affairs come on? What are your plans?"
Valmond forgot that she was his inquisitor; he only saw her as his ally,
his friend. So he spoke to her, as he had done at the Manor, with a sort
of eloquence, of his great theme. He had changed greatly. The rhetorical,
the bizarre, had left his speech. There was no more grandiloquence than
might be expected of a soldier who saw things in the bright flashes of
the battle-field--sharp pinges of colour, the dyes well soaked in.
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