Nevertheless, the dark face with its
twinkling, heavily black-lashed blue eyes, its short, wavy black hair
turning gray at the temples, its prominent nose and chin, lips and jaws
slightly aggressive in their firmness, was the distilled essence of New
York. So were the strong, lean figure, and the nervous, virile hands.
"Hello, Jim!" exclaimed Carleton, turning quickly at the touch on his
shoulder. "I've only played with a dish or two. I was waiting for you,
really." He got up, and rather shyly introduced the party to his host of
the celebrated Stellamare.
"I have the pleasure of knowing this lady slightly, already," said
Schuyler, still fixing Madeleine with his straight, disconcerting gaze.
"Madame d'Ambre?"
"I don't think we knew each other's name. I had the honour of doing a
small--a very small--service for Madame, such a service as any man may
be allowed to do for a lady at Monte Carlo."
If he laid an emphasis on the last two words, it was hardly strong
enough to be noticed, unless by the person most concerned.
"Do sit down with us, and eat the Welsh rabbit Carleton has been talking
about," said Hannaford. "This is my show. I shall be delighted, and I'm
sure I speak for the ladies."
Madame d'Ambre murmured something, and Mary smiled a more than
ordinarily friendly smile; for she knew that this was the distant cousin
of whom she had heard from Peter, the "Jim" who, in Molly Maxwell's
eyes, was an heroic figure. Peter never tired of telling anecdotes of
Jim's wonderful feats of finance, his coolness and daring in times of
black panic or perilous uncertainty in Wall Street, his scholarly
attainments, of which he never spoke; his passion for music and gardens,
and other contradictory traits such as no one would have expected in a
keen business man.
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