She
started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her
face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and
unflinchingly in the eyes.
"Will you wait a moment?" she asked.
She hurried into her room, and scarcely had she gone before she
reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her
eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair, and it lay coiled
upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of
bakneesh. She came to him a second time, and once more gave him her
hand.
"I don't suppose you care now," she said coldly, and yet laughing in
his face. "I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?"
He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water, and he
fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat.
"You promised--" He could not go further.
"I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had
forgotten to love me," she finished for him. "I will do it up now."
He bowed his head, and she could see his shoulders quiver under their
thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted, and she raised her arms as
if on the point of stretching them out to him; but his voice came
evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of
what he spoke.
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