|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 19
At length with a restless shrug of her haughty shoulders she turned
away from her crowd of adorers, her breast heaving under its robing
of garnet velvet, and her whole face flaring with a light that might
mean resolve and might mean simply love. I had no need to turn my
head to see who was advancing towards her; her stately attitude as
countess, her thrilling glance as woman, betrayed only too readily.
He was the more composed of the two. Bowing over her hand with a few
words I could not hear, he drew back a step and began uttering the
usual common-place sentiments of the occasion.
She did not respond. With a splendor of indifference not often seen
even in the manner of our grandest ladies, she waited, opening and
shutting her richly feathered fan, as one who would say, "I know all
this has to be gone through with, therefore I will be patient." But
as the moments passed, and his tone remained unchanged, I could
detect a slight gleam of impatience flash in the depths of her dark
eyes, and a change come into the conventional smile that had hitherto
lighted, without illuminating her countenance. Drawing still further
back from the crowd that was not to be awed from pressing upon her,
she looked around as if seeking a refuge. Her glance fell upon a
certain window, with a gleam of satisfaction. Seeing they would
straightway withdraw there, I took advantage of the moment and made
haste to conceal myself behind a curtain as near that vicinity as
possible. In another instant I heard them approaching.
"You seem to be rather overwhelmed with attention to-night," were the
first words I caught, uttered in Mr. Blake's calmest and most
courteous tones.
"Do you think so?" was the slightly sarcastic reply. "I was just
deciding to the contrary when you came up."
There was a pause. Taking out my knife, I ripped open a seam in the
curtain hanging before me, and looked through. He was eyeing her
intently, a firm look upon his face that made its reserve more marked
than common. I saw him gaze at her handsome head piled with its
midnight tresses amid which the jewels, doubtless of her dead lord,
burned with a fierce and ominous glare, at her smooth olive brow, her
partly veiled eyes where the fire passionately blazed, at her scarlet
lips trembling with an emotion her rapidly flushing cheeks would not
allow her to conceal. I saw his glances fall and embrace her whole
elegant form with its casing of ruby velvet and ornamentation of lace
and diamonds, and an expectant thrill passed through me almost as if
I already beheld the mask of his reserve falling, and the true man
flash out in response to the wooing beauty of this full-blown rose,
evidently in waiting for him. But it died away and a deeper feeling
seized me as I saw his glances return unkindled to her countenance,
and heard him say in still more measured accents than before:
"Is it possible then that the Countess De Mirac can desire the
adulation of us poor American plebeians? I had not thought it,
madame."
Slowly her dark eyes turned towards him; she stood a statue.
"But I forget," he went on, a tinge of bitterness for a moment showing
itself in his smile: "perhaps in returning to her own country, Evelyn
Blake has so far forgotten the last two years as to find pleasure
again in the toys and foibles of her youth. Such things have been, I
hear." And he bowed almost to the ground in his half sarcastic
homage.
"Evelyn Blake! It is long since I have heard that name," she murmured.
He could not restrain the quick flush from mounting to his brow.
"Pardon me," said he, "if it brings you sadness or unwelcome
memories. I promise you I will not so transgress again."
A wan smile crossed her lips grown suddenly pallid.
"You mistake," said she; "if my name brings up a past laden with
bitter memories and shadowed by regret, it also recalls much that is
pleasant and never to be forgotten. I do not object to hearing my
girlhood's name uttered--by my nearest relative."
The answer was dignity itself. "Your name is Countess De Mirac, your
relatives must be proud to utter it."
A gleam not unlike the lightning's quick flash shot from the eyes she
drooped before him.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|