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Page 16
What Paul Harley's thoughts may have been I cannot say, but he
preserved an unbroken silence up to the very moment that we came to the
gate lodge.
The gates were monstrosities of elaborate iron scrollwork,
craftsmanship clever enough in its way, but of an ornate kind more in
keeping with the orange trees of the South than with this wooded Surrey
countryside.
A very surly-looking girl, quite obviously un-English (a daughter of
Pedro, the butler, I learned later), opened the gates, and we entered
upon a winding drive literally tunnelled through the trees. Of the
house we had never a glimpse until we were right under its walls, nor
should I have known that we were come to the main entrance if the car
had not stopped.
"Looks like a monastery," muttered Harley.
Indeed that part of the building--the north front--which was visible
from this point had a strangely monastic appearance, being built of
solid gray blocks and boasting only a few small, heavily barred
windows. The eccentricity of the Victorian gentleman who had expended
thousands of pounds upon erecting this house was only equalled, I
thought, by that of Colonel Menendez, who had chosen it for a home. An
out-jutting wing shut us in on the west, and to the east the prospect
was closed by the tallest and most densely grown box hedge I had ever
seen, trimmed most perfectly and having an arched opening in the
centre. Thus, the entrance to Cray's Folly lay in a sort of bay.
But even as we stepped from the car, the great church-like oaken doors
were thrown open, and there, framed in the monkish porch, stood the
tall, elegant figure of the Colonel.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "welcome to Cray's Folly."
He advanced smiling, and in the bright sunlight seemed even more
Mephistophelean than he had seemed in Harley's office.
"Pedro," he called, and a strange-looking Spanish butler who wore his
side-whiskers like a bull fighter appeared behind his master; a sallow,
furtive fellow with whom I determined I should never feel at ease.
However, the Colonel greeted us heartily enough, and conducted us
through a kind of paved, covered courtyard into a great lofty hall.
Indeed it more closely resembled a studio, being partly lighted by a
most curious dome. It was furnished in a manner quite un-English, but
very luxuriously. A magnificent oaken staircase communicated with a
gallery on the left, and at the foot of this staircase, in a mechanical
chair which she managed with astonishing dexterity, sat Madame de
St�mer.
She had snow-white hair crowning the face of a comparatively young
woman, and large, dark-brown eyes which reminded me strangely of the
eyes of some animal although in the first moment of meeting I could not
identify the resemblance. Her hands were very slender and beautiful,
and when, as the Colonel presented us, she extended her fingers, I was
not surprised to see Harley stoop and kiss them in Continental fashion;
for this Madame evidently expected. I followed suit; but truth to tell,
after that first glance at the masterful figure in the invalid chair I
had had no eyes for Madame de St�mer, being fully employed in gazing at
someone who stood beside her.
This was an evasively pretty girl, or such was my first impression.
That is to say, that whilst her attractiveness was beyond dispute,
analysis of her small features failed to detect from which particular
quality this charm was derived. The contour of her face certainly
formed a delightful oval, and there was a wistful look in her eyes
which was half appealing and half impish. Her demure expression was not
convincing, and there rested a vague smile, or promise of a smile, upon
lips which were perfectly moulded, and indeed the only strictly regular
feature of a nevertheless bewitching face. She had slightly curling
hair and the line of her neck and shoulder was most graceful and
charming. Of one thing I was sure: She was glad to see visitors at
Cray's Folly.
"And now, gentlemen," said Colonel Menendez, "having presented you to
Madame, my cousin, permit me to present you to Miss Val Beverley, my
cousin's companion, and our very dear friend."
The girl bowed in a formal English fashion, which contrasted sharply
with the Continental manner of Madame. Her face flushed slightly, and
as I met her glance she lowered her eyes.
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