"I'll go bring Josh
Craig." "No, not to-night," said Miss Severence, with a sudden
compression of the lips and a stern, almost stormy contraction of
the brows.
"Please don't do that, Rita," cried Arkwright. "It reminds me of
your grandmother."
The girl's face cleared instantly, and all overt signs of strength
of character vanished in her usual expression of sweet, reserved
femininity. "Bring him to-morrow," said she. "A little late,
please. I want others to be there, so that I can study him
unobserved." She laughed. "This is a serious matter for me. My
time is short, and my list of possible eligibles less extended
than I could wish." And with a satiric smile and a long,
languorous, coquettish glance, she waved him away and waved the
waiting Jackie into his place.
Arkwright found Craig clear of "Patsy" Raymond and against the
wall near the door. He was obviously unconscious of himself, of
the possibility that he might be observed. His eyes were pouncing
from blaze of jewels to white neck, to laughing, sensuous face, to
jewels again or to lithe, young form, scantily clad and swaying in
masculine arm in rhythm with the waltz. It gave Arkwright a qualm
of something very like terror to note the contrast between his
passive figure and his roving eyes with their wolfish gleam--like
Blucher, when he looked out over London and said: "God! What a
city to sack!"
Arkwright thought Josh was too absorbed to be aware of his
approach; but as soon as he was beside him Josh said: "You were
right about that apartment of mine.
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