I brought it up, but forgot to give it to you. You'll find
it on my table."
Mrs. Ashwood abstractedly turned away and entered her brother's room
from the same balcony. The forgotten parcel, which looked like a roll
of manuscript, was lying on his dressing-table. She gazed attentively at
the handwriting on the wrapper and then gave a quick glance around her.
A sudden and subtle change came over her. She neither flushed nor paled,
nor did the delicate lines of expression in her face quiver or change.
But as she held the parcel in her hand her whole being seemed to undergo
some exquisite suffusion. As the medicines which the Arabian physician
had concealed in the hollow handle of the mallet permeated the languid
royal blood of Persia, so some volatile balm of youth seemed to flow
in upon her with the contact of that strange missive and transform her
weary spirit.
"Jack!" she called, in a high clear voice. But Jack had already gone
from the balcony when she reached it with an elastic step and a quick
youthful swirl and rustling of her skirt. He was lighting his cigar in
the garden.
"Jack," she said, leaning half over the railing, "come back here in an
hour and we'll talk over that matter of yours again."
Jack looked up eagerly and as if he might even come up then, but she
added quickly, "In about an hour--I must think it over," and withdrew.
She re-entered the sitting-room, shut the door carefully and locked it,
half pulled down the blind, walking once or twice around the table on
which the parcel lay, with one eye on it like a graceful cat.
Pages:
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206