"He is a handsome young officer," timidly whispered the girl,
shrinking back out of sight. "What can he have in common with my
father? I thought he was some old veteran." And the awakened heart
of Justine Delande bounded in delight. She would have joyed to tell
Nadine of her own romantic budding friendship, but a wholesome fear
tied her tongue, and she was only happy when caressing the diamond
bracelet that night, which encircled her arm, while with dry and
aching eyes she waited for the dawn.
While Hugh Johnstone paced the veranda of his lonely marble palace
that night, a prey to vague fears, and unwilling to face the accusing
eyes of his daughter, Major Alan Hawke, with a sudden astonishment,
stood mute before the splendid woman who received him in the
mysterious bungalow. There was scant ceremony of greeting between
them, for Berthe Louison impatiently grasped his hands.
"He is here, and the girl, too," she said, with blazing eyes. She
stood robed as a queen before her secret agent. "Where were you?
You left me here to wait in a torment of anxiety."
"I have just come from his dinner table," quietly said the startled
Major. "They are both here, and well. I am already intimate at the
house, but I have not seen the girl. I feared being followed or I
would have met you at the train." He marveled at her royal beauty.
She was conscious now of the power of wealth, and some hidden fire
glowed in her veins.
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