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Cara at once went forward, and, after examining her with a superior air, gave a curious little grunt, which meant that he wished to be friends.
"She's no better and no worse than other women, I suppose," he returned implacably. "Ready to take whatever goods the gods provide and then go on to the next." Cara turned aside in despair. She could not tell could not guess what had happened.
Look here, I've been thinking let me see what was I going to say?" The mind of Ellis was growing more and more confused; nor was the head of Wilkinson so clear as when he entered the bar-room. The strong glass of brandy toddy was doing its work on both of them. "Let me see," went on Ellis, in a wandering way. "I was speaking of Cara oh, yes, of Cara.
It did not occur to her for some minutes that her figure would be silhouetted against the light, and when the thought did flash across her mind she moved back quickly and switched off the lights, but crept back again to the casement to listen again to the thrilling song until the last notes died away. "Adios, mia cara!" said the voice below, and there was silence.
In that chamber were virginity, with an atmosphere of mysticism, inventiveness unwilling to recognize the impossible a chapter of magic, a strophe of a poem, and in it, as a central point for all else, was the slender form of Cara on a lofty place, fallen asleep calmly, arrayed as in a bridal robe, with her delicate face, which, in the pale, golden hair, with a shade of whiteness barely discernible, emerged from the flood of snowy crape and flowers.
"You're strange, cara mia," he consentingly enough dropped; but, for whatever strangeness, he kept her, as they circulated, from being waylaid, even remarking to her afresh as he had often done before, on the help rendered, in such situations, by the intrinsic oddity of the London "squash," a thing of vague, slow, senseless eddies, revolving as in fear of some menace of conversation suspended over it, the drop of which, with some consequent refreshing splash or spatter, yet never took place.
A little hoard of bright treasures; red rubies, ay as red as blood-diamonds as brilliant as the glittering of crossed daggers sapphires as blue as the lightning pearls as pure as the little folded hands of a dead child opals as dazzlingly changeful as woman's love! Why do you start?" for she had moved restlessly in my embrace. "Do I use bad similes? Ah, cara mia, I am no poet!
"I came over to bring you a brace of pheasants," he explained. "As you were out, I deposited them in the care of your parlourmaid." Cara thanked him cordially, and then, as he still lingered, she added: "Won't you turn back and come in for a cup of tea? Have you time?" "I should think I have!" The mercurial rise in Robin's spirits betrayed itself in the tones of his voice.
Then he turned back to Old Beard, his arm around Maya's shoulders. "Old Beard, this is Maya Cara Nome," said Dark. "Maya, this is my father, the real Dark Kensington." "The older Dark Kensington," corrected Old Beard. "I am very happy to meet you, Maya. My son, you have chosen a beautiful woman."
That was the enigma, one which would have been exciting, if the solution had not been so prompt and so tame. At the proceedings which resulted in Lennox' discharge, it was testified that Angelo Cara had been temporarily deranged. The testimony, expertly advanced by a novelist who was not an expert, the reporters grabbed before the court could rule it out. The grabbing was natural.
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