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He sat down to think things out, and he was still at that melancholy
occupation when perhaps a half-hour later his daughter entered the
room, returned at last from her excursion.
She looked pale, even a little scared - in reality excessively
self-conscious now that the ordeal of facing all the company awaited
her.
Seeing no one but her father in the room, she checked on the
threshold.
"Where is everybody?" she asked, in a voice rendered natural by
effort.
M. Binet reared his great head and turned upon her eyes that were
blood-injected. He scowled, blew out his thick lips and made harsh
noises in his throat. Yet he took stock of her, so graceful and
comely and looking so completely the lady of fashion in her long
fur-trimmed travelling coat of bottle green, her muff and her broad
hat adorned by a sparkling Rhinestone buckle above her adorably
coiffed brown hair. No need to fear the future whilst he owned
such a daughter, let Scaramouche play what tricks he would.
He expressed, however, none of these comforting reflections.


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