I
wonder what you think about behind your steady eyes."
"I?" said Maggie, with a little laugh. "Oh--I think about my dresses,
and the new fashions, and parties, and all the things that girls do
think of."
Catrina shook her head. She looked stubborn and unconvinced. Then
suddenly she changed the conversation.
"Do you like M. de Chauxville?" she asked.
"No."
"Does Paul like him?"
"I don't know."
Catrina looked up for a moment only. Then her eyes returned to the
contemplation of the burning pine-logs.
"I wonder why you will not talk of Paul," she said, in a voice requiring
no answer.
Maggie moved rather uneasily. She had her back turned toward Catrina.
"I am afraid I am rather a dull person," she answered. "I have not much
to say about any body."
"And nothing about Paul?" suggested Catrina.
"Nothing. We were talking of M. de Chauxville."
"Yes; I do not understand M. de Chauxville. He seems to me to be the
incarnation of insincerity. He poses--even to himself. He is always
watching for the effect. I wonder what the effect of himself upon
himself may be."
Maggie laughed.
"That is rather complicated," she said. "It requires working out. I
think he is deeply impressed with his own astuteness. If he were simpler
he would be cleverer."
Catrina was afraid of Claude de Chauxville, and, because this was so,
she stared in wonder at the English girl, who dismissed him from the
conversation and her thoughts with a few careless words of contempt.
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