For a brief interval her gaze was steady and clear; then the flush deepened in her cheeks; her long lashes drooped as the cold gray of Howland's eyes met hers in unflinching challenge, and she turned to her tea.

Howland noted that the hand which lifted the little Japanese pot was trembling slightly.

He leaned forward, and as if impelled by the movement, the girl turned her face to him again, the tea-urn poised above her cup.

In her dark eyes was an expression which half brought him to his feet, a wistful glow, a pathetic and yet half-frightened appeal to him.

He rose, his eyes questioning her, and to his unspoken inquiry her lips formed themselves into a round, red O, and she nodded to the opposite side of her table.
"I beg your pardon," he said, seating himself.