Orde began to feel oppressed and subdued.
For quite three quarters of an hour he waited without hearing any
other indications of life than the muffled sounds just remarked
upon. Occasionally he shifted his position, but cautiously, as
though he feared to awaken some one. The three oil portraits stared
at him with all the reserved aloofness of their painted eyes. He
began to doubt whether the man had announced him at all.
Then, breaking the stillness with almost startling abruptness, he
heard a clear, high voice saying something at the top of the stairs
outside. A rhythmical SWISH of skirts, punctuated by the light PAT-
PAT of a girl tripping downstairs, brought him to his feet. A
moment later the curtains parted and she entered, holding out her
hand.
"Oh, I did keep you waiting such a long time!" she cried.
He stood holding her hand, suddenly unable to say a word, looking at
her hungrily. A flood of emotion, of which he had had no prevision,
swelled up within him to fill his throat. An almost irresistible
impulse all but controlled him to crush her to him, to kiss her lips
and her throat, to lose his fingers in the soft, shadowy fineness of
her hair. The crest of the wave passed almost immediately, but it
left him shaken.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205