"
"Pardon me," retorted Guy; "I seldom say rude things--never
intentionally. I don't know which is in worst taste, that, or paying
point-blank compliments. Without being mathematical, you may have heard
that the line of beauty is a curve."
Flora laughed.
"It is difficult to catch you. What have you been doing since we
parted?"
"That is just the question that was on my lips, so nearly uttered that I
consider I spoke first. Now, will you confess, or must I cross-question
some one else? I _will_ know. It is easy to follow you, like an invading
army, by the trail of devastation."
"So you do care to know?" the soft voice said, that could make the
nerves of even an indifferent hearer thrill and quiver strangely.
After once listening to it, it was very easy to believe the weird
stories of Norse sorceresses, and German wood-spirits and pixies, luring
men to death with their fatally musical tones.
"Simple curiosity," Guy replied, coolly, "and a little compassion for
your victims. They might be friends of mine, you know."
Miss Bellasys bit her lip, half provoked, half amused, apparently, as
she answered, "The dead tell no tales."
"No, but the wounded do, and they cry out pretty loudly sometimes.
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