Unconscious of the eyes
that fed upon her loveliness; there was the faintest shadow of a smile
upon her face as she met, in one swift glance, the artist's look; then,
raising her violin, she made music for the revelers, at the will of Mrs.
Taine. As she stood there in the modest naturalness of her winsome
beauty--innocent and pure as the flowers that formed the screen behind
her; hired to amuse the worthy friends and guests of that hideously
repulsive devotee of lust and licentiousness who, from his wheeled chair,
was glaring at her with eyes that burned insanely--she seemed, as indeed
she was, a spirit from another world.
James Rutlidge, his heavy features flushed with drink, was gazing at the
girl with a look that betrayed his sensual passion. The face of Conrad
Lagrange was dark and grim with scowling appreciation of the situation.
Mrs. Taine was looking at the artist. And Aaron King, watching his girl
comrade of the hills as she seemed to listen for the music which she in
turn drew from the instrument, felt,--by the very force of the contrast
between her and her surroundings he had never felt before, the power and
charm of her personality--felt--and knew that Sibyl Andres had come into
his life to stay.
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