England -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Murder -- Fiction
The suggestions comforted her as she rang, told Julie she had changed
her mind, and would go to the ball; and she subsequently dined with her
uncle and aunt, who seemed in exceedingly good spirits. (Sir Thomas’
pet project was that Lord Vansittart should marry Joan, and he augured
well from his appearance at this juncture, and went through the ceremony
of dressing with a certain amount of patience.) When she stood before
her long glass, with all the electric lights switched on, and saw
herself in her gleaming white and shining pearls, tall, queenly, fair,
with the glistening wreaths of golden hair crowning her small head, and
her lustrous brown eyes alive with that peculiar, unfathomable
expression which had gained her the epithet "sphinx-like" more than once
when she was discussed as the Beauty who meant to flout every Beast that
approached her, and did--she felt comforted. Only when she was shut into
the carriage, her aunt prattling platitudes, and the flickering street
lamps flashing stray gleams into the dimly-lit vehicle as they drove
along, was she seized with a sudden panic.
"I feel as if--if he does not come--I shall break down, utterly--I shall
not be able to bear my life any more!" she told herself, despondently.
"I shall end it all--no one will care! There is only old Nana, who is
barely alive, and she would follow me at once!"
The Duke of Arran was a man of ideas--and he lived to carry them out.
The balls and entertainments at Arran House were always unique. That
evening was no exception. As Joan alighted, and passing through the
hall accompanied Lady Thorne through the vestibule and up the wide
staircase, even she felt transient admiration. White and gold
everywhere was the rule to-night at Arran House, where the famous marble
staircase had been brought from an old Venetian palazzo. This evening’s
decorations were carried out in gold-yellow; after the gardens and
houses had been denuded of gold and white flowers to the disgust of the
ducal gardeners, the London florists had been commissioned to supply the
banks and wreaths and festoons of gold and white blossoms which
everywhere met the eye, perfumed the atmosphere, and made a fitting
background for the large staff of tall, handsome powdered men-servants
in black velvet and satin liveries, which was augmented to-night into a
very regiment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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