"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
but praise," he said.
"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
younger!"
The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
quailed.
"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
your voice seems to have changed."
"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite
different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me
you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so
devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that
gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and
the tall man.
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