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Updated: June 4, 2025
"Quite handsome, I'd say. The Count always had an eye for the picturesque." She made the round of the lower floor, carelessly observant of its arrangement, while Markham followed her, his ears straining for the sounds of Hermia's escape. "Are your friends coming here?" he asked. Olga poked the muzzle of her gun into a cupboard. "Not unless I whistle for them, Monsieur," she said slowly.
"Reggie," she cried, "how dare you!" "Oh, don't mind us," laughed Olga. "I don't " he said stoutly. "But I got here first, Olga, didn't I?" "You surely did " "I'm glad to have witnesses. Hermia's dreadfully slippery, you know." Olga, who had dropped into a corner of the stone bench, looked up languidly. "Would you mind telling us what it all means?" she asked. Hermia laughed. "May I, Trevvy?"
It was soon agreed that, as Demetrius had given up his pretensions to Hermia, he should endeavour to prevail upon her father to revoke the cruel sentence of death which had been passed against her. Demetrius was preparing to return to Athens for this friendly purpose, when they were surprised with the sight of Egeus, Hermia's father, who came to the wood in pursuit of his runaway daughter.
He had waited patiently through Hermia's short and sportive attachment for "Reggie" Armistead, and when their "trial" engagement reached its tempestuous conclusion, had stepped softly into the breach, rosy with hope and a definite sense that his time had come. Hermia liked him had liked him for years. She had gotten used to him as one does to a familiar chair or an article of diet.
This morning Georgette had received a note from Titine who was in Paris where she had been left by her mistress to do some shopping and to await Hermia's return. Titine had expressed bewilderment at the disappearance of her mistress, who had left Paris in her new machine with the avowed intention of reaching Trouville by night.
Westfield had protested again about Hermia's growing intimacy with the Countess, who had quite innocently taken unto herself all of the fashionable vices of polite Europe. Hilda Ashhurst watched Hermia's expression a moment and then laughed. "Been catching it haven't you? Poor Hermia! It's dreadful to be the one chick in a family of ugly ducklings "
Why, God knew. She had been mad. She had believed the worst of Hermia and of him, and had offered herself to him that he might judge between them her heart and Hermia's, her mind, her body and Hermia's. Was her own face no longer fair that he should have looked at her so curiously and turned away with Hermia's name on his lips, Hermia's image in his heart?
He studied her a moment again, soberly testing her with this gaze, but she did not flinch. "This," he said at last, "is the maddest thing you've ever done." He threw the knapsack over his shoulder and picked up Hermia's leather bag which had been saved from the wreck of the machine, but she quickly took it from him. "No," she said sternly, "I'll do my own carrying.
Hermia's decision to follow her to Europe had been made with a suddenness which left her motives open to suspicion. Olga had learned from Georgette, who had got it from Titine, that notes had passed between Hermia and Markham, for Georgette, whatever the indifference of her successes as a hairdresser, had a useful skill at surreptitious investigation.
The light had cut them off for a moment from the rest of the world, or rather had made more definite the little world of their own, but Hermia's eyes still peered over her shoulder, distended and alert. She was on the defensive, ready for headlong flight, like a naiad startled. "I'm sorry, Hermia. You're dead tired aren't you?" "Yes, I I am a little," she said quietly.
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