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Page 59
Charlotte went out into her garden, holding her skirts carefully away
from possible touch of bush or briar. Late August flowers were many, but
among them were none that pleased her. She came away therefore without a
touch of colour upon her white attire, yet seeming to need none, the
bloom upon her cheek was so clear, the dusk of her hair so rich.
"Isn't she fascinating?" said Winifred Chester in the ear of John Leaver,
as Charlotte came in. "I never saw a girl who seemed so radiantly well
and happy, with so little to make her so. I think she and Madam Chase
must be very poor, all the nice things they have seem so old, and the new
things so very simple. Ellen says the family was a very fine one."
"Very fine," he agreed. His eyes were upon Charlotte as she greeted her
hosts. He answered Winifred's further comments absently. He bowed gravely
in response to Charlotte's recognition of him, then turned and talked
with the pretty girl whom Ellen had asked him to take in to dinner.
At the table Miss Ruston and Dr. Leaver found themselves nearly opposite.
Leaver talked conscientiously with his companion, then devoted himself to
Winifred Chester, upon his other side. Returning to do his duty by Miss
Everett, he found her eager to discuss those opposite.
"They say Miss Ruston does the most wonderful photographs," she observed.
"One would know she was devoted to some art, wouldn't one? The way that
frock is cut about her shoulders--only an artist would venture to wear it
like that, without a single touch of colour. Every other woman I know
would have put on a string of gold beads or pearls or at least a pendant
of some sort."
For a moment Leaver forgot to answer. He had not looked at Charlotte
since he had first taken his seat. Now, with Miss Everett calling
his attention to her, and everybody else, including the subject of
their interest, absorbed in their own affairs, he let his eyes rest
lingeringly upon her. He had had only brief glimpses of her since she
had come to town, and had seen her at such times always in the summer
street-or-garden attire which she constantly wore. Now he saw her under
conditions which vividly brought back to him other scenes. The white lace
gown she wore, with its peculiar cut, like the spreading of flower petals
about the beautifully modeled shoulders--it struck him as familiar. Had
she worn any jewels upon that white neck when he had seen her? He thought
not. He had never known her to wear ornament of any sort, he was sure.
She needed none, he was equally sure of that. As she sat, with her head
turned toward Arthur Chester, who was expounding with great elaboration
something which called for maps upon the tablecloth drawn with a rapidly
moving finger, she was showing to the observers across the table a face
and head in profile, an outline which had been burned into the memory of
the man who now regarded it and forgot to make answer.
Miss Everett glanced at him curiously. Then she murmured: "Don't you
think the leaving off of all ornaments is sometimes just as much a
coquetry as the wearing of them would be? It certainly challenges notice
even more, doesn't it?"
"It depends on whether one happens to possess them, I should say," Leaver
returned.
"About their drawing attention, or their absence drawing it? I suppose
so. But when you don't know which it is, but judge by the richness of the
gown that the wearer can afford them--"
"I'm no judge of the richness of a gown."
"I am, then. That is the most wonderful lace--anybody can see--at least
any woman."
"Tell me, Miss Everett,"--Leaver made a determined effort to get away
from the personal aspect of the subject,--"why does a woman love jewels?
For their own sake, or because of their power to adorn her--if they do
adorn her?"
The young woman plunged animatedly into a discussion of the topic as he
presented it. She was wearing certain striking ornaments of pearl and
turquoise, which undoubtedly became her fair colouring whether they
enhanced her beauty or not. It was while this discussion was in progress,
Leaver forcing himself to attend sufficiently to make intelligent
replies, that Charlotte Ruston suddenly turned and looked at him. He
looked straight back at her, a peculiar intentness growing in his
deep-set eyes.
He did not withdraw his gaze until she had turned away again, and the
encounter had been but for the briefest space, yet when it was over John
Leaver's colour had changed a little. For the moment it was as if nobody
else had been in the room--he was only dully conscious that upon his
other side Winifred Chester was addressing him, and that he must make
reply.
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