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Vance, Louis Joseph, 1879-1933

"Red Masquerade"

"
He took her hands and cuddled them in his own.
She quivered irrepressibly to his touch.
"But you are trembling!" he protested, solicitous, looking down into her
face--"you are wan and sad, my dear. Tell me you are not ill."
"It is nothing," Sofia replied--again in that faint, stifled voice. She
added in determined effort to subdue her trembling and turn their talk to
essentials: "You sent for me--I am here."
"I am so sorry. If I had guessed ..." Enlightenment seemed to dawn all at
once. "But surely it isn't because of that stupid business with Karslake?
Surely you didn't take him seriously?"
"How should I--?"
"It is too absurd. The poor fool misconstrued my instructions to make
himself agreeable--I am so taken up with the gravest matters at present, I
didn't want you to feel lonely or neglected--and, it appears, felt it
incumbent upon him to flirt with you as a matter of duty. I am out of
temper with him, but not unreasonable; I shan't dispense with his services
altogether, without more provocation, but will find other work to keep him
busy and out of your way. You need fear no more annoyance from that
quarter."
"I was not annoyed," Sofia found heart to contend. "I--like him."
"Nonsense!" Victor's laugh was rich with derision. "Don't ask me to believe
you were actually touched by the fellow's play-acting. You--my
daughter--wasting emotion on a mere commoner! The thing is too ridiculous.
Oblige me by thinking no more about it. I have better things in store for
you.


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