Then
he saw that he was not the only occupant of the room, for a lady was
sitting in the broad bay-window. He snatched off his cap and murmured
an apology.
"I beg your pardon! I did not know anyone was in the room," he said.
The lady was young and handsome, with a beauty which owed a great deal
to colour. Her hair was a rich auburn, her complexion of the delicate
purity which sometimes goes with that coloured hair--"milk and roses,"
it used to be called. Her eyes were of china blue, and her lips rather
full, but of the richest carmine. She was exquisitely dressed, her
travelling costume evidently of Redfern's build, and one hand, from
which she had removed the glove, was loaded with costly rings; diamonds
and emeralds as large as nuts, and of the first water.
But it was not her undeniable beauty, or her dress and costly
jewellery, which impressed Stafford so much as the proud, scornfully
listless air with which she regarded him as she leant back
indolently--and a little insolently--tapping the edge of the table with
her glove.
"Pray don't apologise," she said, languidly. "This is a public room, I
suppose!"
"Yes, I think so," said Stafford, in his pleasant, frank way; "but one
doesn't rush into a public room with one's hat on if he has reason to
suppose that a lady is present.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160