She
was without a hat and wearing a house dress of decorous shades and
in the extreme of fashion. Her black hair, built up in artificial
waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her hands, covered deep with
rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the most fastidious care.
But her complexion was her own; and her skin, free from paint and
powder, glowed with that healthy pink that is supposed to be the
perquisite only of the simple life and a conscience undisturbed.
"I am Mrs. Earle," said the woman. "I wrote you that note. Will you
please come this way?"
That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious,
for, as she spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the
stairs. After an instant of hesitation, Wharton followed.
As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant.
Both physically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever
surprise, for whatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared.
At the top of the stairs he found a wide hall along which on both
sides were many doors. The one directly facing the stairs stood
open. At one side of this the woman halted and with a gesture of
the jewelled fingers invited him to enter.
"My sitting-room," she said. As Wharton remained motionless she
substituted: " My office."
Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He
saw comfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver
frames photographs, and between two open windows a business-like
roller-top desk on which was a hand telephone.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37