Then suddenly Sally stood before him, unmasked and
looking more fascinating than ever.
"You wicked man," said she with reproachful eyes, the dark silky lashes
drooping momentarily on her painted cheeks. "I've been searching for you
everywhere. But my heart told me you would come, and my heart rarely
deceives me."
Sally spoke in a tone of sincerity, and maybe for once she was sincere.
Vane did not trouble one way or the other. He was in that condition of
nervous excitement to be strongly affected by her sensuous beauty. He
was stammering something in reply when a man in a puce satin coat and a
flowered brocaded waistcoat thrust himself rudely between them.
"I fear, sir, you don't know all the transcendent virtues of this
_lady_. Permit me to enlighten you."
He spoke in an insolent tone, and Sally turned upon him in fury and bade
him begone.
"Mind your own business, Mr. Dorrimore, and don't thrust your nose into
what doesn't concern you," she cried, her eyes blazing with wrath.
"Oh, I've no quarrel with you, madam. I only wish to warn your poor
dupe----"
He wasn't able to finish the sentence. Vane had struck him a violent
blow in the face.
Vane's sudden attack fairly took Dorrimore by surprise. He stared
blankly at Vane, and then apparently seized by some ludicrous idea, he
burst into a sarcastic laugh.
"Faith, sir--you must excuse me--you really must.
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