"Yes, yes," he exclaimed, and gave a twist to his light mustache. He had caught her ultimate words, and with them a cue.
And thereupon he carried his listener through a series of scenes and adventures which he made graphic by sheer dexterity in the use of words. His speech, colored and fluent, was of exactly that order which must be heard, not read. It was his intonation which gave it its charm, the manner in which he eluded a detail that might have wearied; the expression his face took on at the situations which he saw before describing, and which he made his auditor expect; and also the surety of his skill in transition--the art with which he would pass from one idea to another, connect them both with a gesture, and complete the subject with a smile. The _raconteur_ is usually a bore. When he is not, he is a wizard. And as Roland passed from one peak of the Himalayas to another, over one of the two that listened he exerted a palpable spell. At last, the end of his tether reached, he turned to the cousin, and, without a hesitation intervening, asked of him, as though the question were one of really personal interest, "Dr. Thorold, have you ever been in the East?"
Thorold, thrown off his guard, glared for an instant, the scowl still manifest; then he stood up. "No, sir; I have not," he answered; and each of the monosyllables of his reply he seemed to propel with tongue and teeth. "Good-night, Justine." And with a nod that was rather small for two to divide, took himself from the room.
He reached the portière before Justine fully grasped the discourtesy of his conduct. She stared after him wonderingly, her lips half parted, her clear eyes dilated and amazed, the color mounted to her cheeks, and she made as though to leave her seat.
But this Roland thought it wise to prevent. "Miss Dunellen," he murmured, "I am afraid Dr. Thorold was bored. It is my fault. I had no right--"
"Bored! How could he have been? I am sure I don't see--"
"Yes, you do, my dear," thought Roland; "you think he was jealous, and you are wrong; but it is good for us that you should." And in memory of the little compliment her speech had unintentionally conveyed he gave another twist to his mustache.
The outer door closed with a jar that reached him where he sat. "Thank God!" he muttered; and divining that if he now went away the girl would regret his departure, after another word or two, and despite the protestation of her manner, he bade her good-night.