"Who are you?" she demanded, sitting up hastily and eyeing the intruder
with extreme disfavour. He was hatless, and the sun glinted on dark red
locks of the same warm, burnished hue as the skin of a horse-chestnut. The
intensely blue eyes gleamed at her from under dominant, strongly-marked
brows, and the beaky, high-bridged nose, long-lipped mouth, and stubborn
chin all connoted the same arrogant virility.
"I'm Forrester--Brett Forrester, and very much at your service," he replied
cheerfully.
So this was Lady Susan's "scapegrace nephew"! This gay, confident person
who strode forcefully into your garden without so much as a
"by-your-leave," and who conveyed the impression that he would stride
forcefully into your life, equally without permission, if it so pleased
him. Ann was aware of something extraordinarily vital about the man that
attracted her in spite of her first instinctive feeling of aversion.
"And what are you doing in my garden?" she asked.
His blue eyes swept the girl's slim, supple figure as she lay in the
hammock with a long, raking glance that missed nothing and then came back
to her face.
"If I answered that question truthfully you'd pretend to be offended," he
said.
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