Hope steadily returned the gaze of his pale eyes, as she replied, with
dignity:

"Yes; my uncle is from home. But I am not at all lonely. I am expecting
my brother every minute."

He smiled at her in a way that made her stiffen instinctively. She had
never been so completely alone with him before.

"Ah, well," he said, "perhaps you will allow me to amuse you till he
returns. I rather want to see him."

He took her permission for granted, and sat down in a bamboo chair on
the veranda, leaning back, and staring up at her with easy insolence.

"I can scarcely believe that you are not lonely here," he remarked. "A
figure of speech, I suppose?"

Hope felt the colour rising in her cheeks under his direct and
unpleasant scrutiny.

"I have never felt lonely till to-day," she returned, with spirit.

He laughed incredulously. "No?" he said.

"No," said Hope with emphasis. "I often think that there are worse
things in the world than solitude."

Something in her tone--its instinctive enmity, its absolute
honesty--attracted his attention. He sat up and regarded her very