“Mrs. Fairbrother? She’s called so, but she’s not my style.” Here he gave me a
killing glance. “I admire women of mind and heart. They do not need to wear
jewels worth an ordinary man’s fortune.”
I looked about for an excuse to leave this none too desirable partner.
“Let us go back into the long hall,” I urged. “The ceaseless whirl of these
dancers is making me dizzy.”
With the ease of a gallant man he took me on his arm and soon we were
promenading again in the direction of the alcove. A passing glimpse of its
interior was afforded me as we turned to retrace our steps in front of the
yellow divan. The lady with the diamond was still there. A fold of the superb
pink velvet she wore protruded across the gap made by the half-drawn curtains,
just as it had done a half-hour before. But it was impossible to see her face
or who was with her. What I could see, however, and did, was the figure of a
man leaning against the wall at the foot of the steps. At first I thought this
person unknown to me, then I perceived that he was no other than the chief
guest of the evening, the Englishman of whom I have previously spoken.
His expression had altered. He looked now both anxious and absorbed,
particularly anxious and particularly absorbed; so much so that I was not
surprised that no one ventured to approach him. Again I wondered and again I
asked myself for whom or for what he was waiting. For Mr. Durand to leave this
lady’s presence? No, no, I would not believe that. Mr. Durand could not be
there still; yet some women make it difficult for a man to leave them and,
realizing this, I could not forbear casting a parting glance behind me as,
yielding to Mr. Fox’s importunities, I turned toward the supper-room. It showed
me the Englishman in the act of lifting two cups of coffee from a small table
standing near the reception-room door. As his manner plainly betokened whither
he was bound with this refreshment, I felt all my uneasiness vanish, and was
able to take my seat at one of the small tables with which the supper-room was
filled, and for a few minutes, at least, lend an ear to Mr. Fox’s vapid
compliments and trite opinions. Then my attention wandered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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