It was black with age, and
covered with quaint carvings and inscriptions; but in the middle,
standing out in bold relief among the numberless Runic figures and
devices, was written in large well-cut letters the word--
THELMA
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I have it! The girl's name, of course! This is
some private retreat of hers, I suppose,--a kind of boudoir like my Lady
Winsleigh's, only with rather a difference."
And he laughed aloud, thinking of the dainty gold-satin hangings of a
certain room in a certain great mansion in Park Lane, where an
aristocratic and handsome lady-leader of fashion had as nearly made love
to him as it was possible for her to do without losing her social
dignity. His laugh was echoed back with a weird and hollow sound, as
though a hidden demon of the cave were mocking him, a demon whose
merriment was intense but also horrible. He heard the unpleasant jeering
repetition with a kind of careless admiration.
"That echo would make a fortune in _Faust_, if it could be persuaded to
back up Mephistopheles with that truly fiendish, '_Ha Ha_!'" he said,
resuming his examination of the name on the door.
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