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"You are satisfied now, I think," said this latter, seeing that the major did not speak. "Well, of all things!" exclaimed Patricia indignantly. "We're locked out!" "Ask her to explain that, my dear lad.".
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"She's rather too collap-y for my taste," volunteered Patricia, gathering up the remains of their repast. "I like the looks of lots of the others far better than hers. Let's ask Miss Margaret Howes about her. No doubt she can tell us what is her secret trouble." The two young people looked steadfastly at the brilliantly-colored figure of the negress, standing in a statuesque attitude near the great iron gate. On either side of her waved the summer foliage of the trees; overhead the sun, like a burning eye, looked down from a cloudless sky, and beyond, the dusty white road showed distinctly through the slender bars of the gate. All was bright and cheerful and English, but in that sinister red figure, with its black face and hands, there was a suggestion of evil which seemed to dominate and poison the whole beautiful scene. Maurice felt Isabella shudder with nervous dread as she pressed closely to his side. Patricia lifted her brows, perplexed and inquiring, and then dropped them with a shrug that seemed to indicate that the matter no longer interested her. "We caught our first view of Bruce Haydon here—remember, Norn?" said Patricia, happily consuming her entrée. "Wouldn't it be fun if we'd run across someone else this time?".
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