Part 60 (1/2)
A wild conjecture flashed across her brain, and her hand clutched his spasmodically, while her heart seemed to stand still. Was Mr. Chesley her father?
Before she could collect her thoughts, he turned away and left the room, accompanied by Mr. Palma, who during the evening bad not once glanced toward her.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Mrs. Carew had arrived on Tuesday morning, and announced that a previous engagement would limit her visit to Sat.u.r.day, at which time she had promised to become the guest of a friend on Murray Hill.
During Wednesday and Thursday the house was thronged with visitors.
There was company to dinner and to luncheon, and every imaginable tribute paid to the taste and vanity of the beautiful woman, who accepted the incense offered as flowers the dew of heaven, and stars the light that const.i.tutes their glory. Accustomed from her cradle to adulation and indulgence, she had a pretty, yet imperious manner of exacting it from all who ventured within her circle; and could not forgive the cool indifference which generally characterized Olga's behaviour.
Too well-bred to be guilty of rudeness, the latter contrived in a very adroit way to defy every proposition advanced by the fair guest, and while she never transcended the bounds of courtesy, she piqued and hara.s.sed and puzzled not only Mrs. Carew, but Mr. Palma.
At ten o'clock on Thursday night, when the guests invited to dinner had departed, and the family circle had collected in the sitting-room to await the carriage which would convey the ladies to a Wedding Reception, Mrs. Carew came downstairs magnificently attired in a delicate green satin, covered with an over dress of exquisite white lace, and adorned with a profusion of emeralds and pearls.
Her hair was arranged in a unique style (which Olga denominated ”Isis fas.h.i.+on”), and above her forehead rested a jewelled lotos, the petals of large pearls, the leaves of emeralds.
As she stood before the grate, with the white lace shawl slipping from her shoulders, and exposing the bare gleaming bust, Olga exclaimed:
”O Queen of the Nile! What Antony awaits your smiles?”
As if aware that she were scrutinized, the grey eyes, sank to the carpet, then met Olga's.
”Miss Neville is not the only person who has found in me a resemblance to the Egyptian sorceress. When I return to Italy, Story shall immortalize me in connection with his own impa.s.sioned poem. Let me see, how does it begin:
'Here, Charmian, take my bracelets.'”
She pa.s.sed her hand across her low wide brow, and, glancing furtively at Mr. Palma, she daringly repeated the strongest pa.s.sages of the poem, while her flute-like tones seemed to gather additional witchery.
Sitting in one corner, with an open book in her hand, Regina looked at her and listened, fascinated by her singular beauty, but astonished at the emphasis with which she recited imagery that tinged the girl's cheek with red.
”If there be a 'c.o.c.katoo' in Gotham, doubtless you will own it to-morrow. But forgive me, oh, Cleopatra! if I venture the heresy that Story's poem--gorgeous, though I grant it--leaves a bad taste in one's mouth, like richly spiced wine, hot and sweet and deliciously intoxicating; but beware of to-morrow! 'Sometimes the poison of asps is not confined to fig-baskets; and with your permission, I should like to offer you an infallible antidote, Seraph of the Nile?”
Mrs. Carew smiled defiantly, and inclined her head, interpreting the lurking challenge in Olga's fiery hazel eyes.
Leaning a little forward to note the effect, the latter began and recited with much skill the entire words of ”Maud Muller.” Whenever the name of the Judge was p.r.o.nounced, she looked at Mr. Palma, and there was peculiar emphasis in her rendition of the lines:
”But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love tune.
He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fas.h.i.+on, as he for power.”
How had Olga discovered the secret which he believed so securely locked in his own heart? Not a muscle moved in his cold guarded face, but a faint flush stole across his cheek as he met her sparkling gaze.
Mrs. Carew's rosy lip curled scornfully:
”My dear Miss Neville, should you ever be smitten by the blasts of adversity, your charming recitative talent would prove wonderfully remunerative upon the stage.”
”Thanks! but my observation leads me to believe that at the present day the profession of the Sycophants pays the heaviest dividends.
Does Cleopatra's fondness for figs enable her to appreciate my worldly wisdom?”