She concluded abruptly: "Do
you think one could tell that a man's eyes were hazel--the golden-brown
hazel--across a pitch dark room above the flame of a briquet?"
"Hazel?" Alexina was standing behind Gora. She saw her body stiffen.
"I could have vowed they were hazel. And that he was English. He also
reminded me of some one I must have met somewhere or other...one meets so
many...possibly it was only a fancy."
"You didn't see him after the lights went on again?"
"They didn't. Only candles. We were all too anxious to get away, anyhow. I
fancy the King was in a hurry to get the ambassador upstairs and tell him
what he thought of him--"
"Don't be flippant. You always did have a maddening habit of being flippant
at the wrong time. Haven't you seen him again anywhere?"
"I've walked the Rue de Rivoli and lunched at the Ritz looking for him;
but I've never had even a glimpse--unless that was his back I saw at the
Crillon to-day. If I saw his eyes I'd know in a minute."
"Why should you think it was his back?"
"Some men have expression in the back of their head. And I just had
an idea--fantastic, no doubt--that my particular Englishman stands up
straight."
"Yours?"
"Yes, I'm feeling quite too fearfully romantic. I'm sure he's looking for
me as hard as I am for him. And if I find him I'll keep him."
She saw Gora's long brown hands slowly clench until they looked like steel.
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