A faint colour deepened under the transparence of
her skin; her fathomless black eyes widened ever so little; she
released her hand.
"It was good of you to come so promptly," said she. "I'm so anxious
to hear all about the dear people at Redding."
She settled gracefully in one of the little chairs. Orde sat down,
once more master of himself, but still inclined to devour her with
his gaze. She was dressed in a morning gown, all laces and ribbons
and long, flowing lines. Her hair was done low on the back of her
head and on the nape of her neck. The blood ebbed and flowed
beneath her clear skin. A faint fragrance of cleanliness diffused
itself about her--the cool, sweet fragrance of daintiness. They
entered busily into conversation. Her attitudes were no longer
relaxed and languidly graceful as in the easy chairs under the
lamplight. She sat forward, her hands crossed on her lap, a fire
smouldering deep beneath the cool surface lights of her eyes.
The sounds in the next room increased in volume, as though several
people must have entered that apartment. In a moment or so the
curtains to the hall parted to frame the servant.
"Mrs. Bishop wishes to know, miss," said that functionary, "if
you're not coming to breakfast.
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