She was dressed in purple velvet, and wore a large
purple hat. The rich dark hue gave her light eyes a very curious colour,
more green than gray; and as she stood on the doorstep, tall and somehow
formidable, the cure thought that she looked Egyptian, an elemental
creature who might have lived by the Nile when the Sphinx was new.
The afternoon sunshine streamed into her eyes, and caused her pupils to
shrink until they appeared to be no larger than black pinheads. Perhaps,
the cure acknowledged to himself, it was only this that gave them a
deceitful effect; nevertheless he felt suddenly sure that for some
reason she was lying to him. He did not believe that Miss Grant was out.
"This lady does not wish me to meet her guest," he told himself. But
aloud he said that he regretted missing Miss Grant; and there was no
message, thanks, except that the cure of Roquebrune had called again. He
was making up his mind to a certain course, and stood aside politely,
meaning to let Lady Dauntrey pass, and then follow her down the steps of
her villa. What he would do after that was his own affair; for with
those who are subtle it is permitted to be subtle in return. Lady
Dauntrey, however, seemed unwilling to let him linger. Instead of
passing him, she asked, "Are you coming my way?"
"As you tell me, Madame, that Miss Grant is out, I will go on to the
Church of Sainte Devote, which is not far away," the cure answered.
"Oh!" The slight look of strain on Lady Dauntrey's face passed, as if
her muscles relaxed.
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