Part 5 (2/2)
”It is a square of crystal set in silver and gold. About the silver is twined one of those old Celtic chains which can only be seen with a microscope, where the links are so tiny that we have no instruments delicate enough to fasten them together and which were believed to have been made by the fairies. And now for a sight of it.”
He was about to lift the next tray, when Dita laid a detaining hand on his arm. ”It isn't there, Cresswell,” she said in a quick, low voice.
As if he had not heard her or had not taken in the full import of her words, he laid the tray carefully upon the table, disclosing the one beneath. Like the others, it too was full of curious amulets, but one s.p.a.ce was empty. Perdita's talisman was indeed missing.
”Why, Dita!” he exclaimed. ”You did not mention to me--”
She shot a quick, unmistakable glance at Gresham. ”Didn't I?” she interrupted before he could go further. ”It's being mended.”
”Ah, those antique bits, they are always coming to pieces, at least I know mine are,” said Mrs. Wilstead with hasty fluency. ”But, Cresswell, there is still another tray, and I must see its contents before I go home.”
”Make it a month,” said Martin in her ear. ”I said three, didn't I?”
CHAPTER VI
SIROCCO
”Good night, Hewston, good night, Alice. Don't go yet, Gresham.”
Hepworth laid a detaining hand on the artist's arm. ”Sit down and smoke.
We haven't had a moment to discuss this portrait matter yet.”
”I think,” said Dita, moving toward the door, ”that I shall leave you two to discuss it and go to bed.”
”Oh, my dear,” her husband detained her with the same light touch with which he had held Gresham. He pushed an easy chair forward so that she should be seated between Eugene and himself. ”We are going to get all the details of the portrait settled to-night. A portrait of you and painted by Gresham is sure to bloom and be admired for a century or two at any rate.”
Dita looked at him quickly as if suspecting him of some intention beyond the discussion of the contemplated portrait, but meeting the smiling blankness of his expression, turned away, not in the least rea.s.sured, but more puzzled than ever, and sinking listlessly into the chair sat staring moodily before her with veiled eyes and compressed lips.
Eugene glanced at her uneasily, a frown between his brows. He knew her like a book. She had always, always from childhood, been a creature of moods. He was perfectly familiar with the various stages of the sirocco, as he had long ago named her outbursts. She would become restless, abstracted, absent, and then she would sit and brood as she was doing now, until finally the sullen and threatening atmosphere would be cleared by a burst of storm, a swift cyclone of anger.
Gresham gave the faintest of sighs and an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. This was a situation which he foresaw would require all his tact and ingenuity.
”Is the picture gallery all right? Did you find it satisfactory?” asked Hepworth.
”Excellent!” Eugene's brow cleared. He spoke with enthusiasm. ”Yes, I told Perdita that the lighting there will be perfect. I've about decided to paint her in white. Yes,” scrutinizing the indifferent object of the discussion narrowly and yet remotely, as if he were visualizing his finished portrait of her, ”white velvet, I think, and rather a blare of jewels. You see I want to bring out the dominating quality of her beauty, harp on it, you know, so I want to present her eclipsing and reducing to their proper places all the splendid accessories with which we can surround her.”
Her husband nodded approvingly. ”What do you think, Dita?”
”Oh, by all means,” she roused herself to answer, but making no effort to conceal the irony of her tones. ”Let Eugene give me all the distinction and grace he is noted for bestowing on, you observe I do not say perceiving in, his clients, or patients, or patrons, whatever he may call them. Make the stones of my tiara and necklace even bigger and whiter and more sparkling than they are, Eugene. Or better still, I'll wear my diamond collar and my string of rubies and my rope of sapphires, all shouting hurrah at once, three cheers for the red, white and blue!
Make me all glittery, Eugene, throw my sables over my shoulders.”
”By Jove!” cried Gresham, interrupting her, a white flash of enthusiasm across his face, ”you may not dream it, Dita, but that's it exactly.
You've hit it.”
”Yes,” she went on satirically, ”and present me in the middle of all this splendor, overcome by the 'burden of an honor into which I was not born.'”
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