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He drank again. Mrs. Decie took up the candle. "Men!" she said with a mysterious intonation; shrugging her shoulders, she walked out. Mr. Treffry put down his glass. 'Understand? he thought; 'no, you don't, and I don't. Who understands a young girl? Vapourings, dreams, moonshine I.... What does she see in this painter fellow? I wonder! He breathed heavily. 'By heavens!
Decie came forward in the slightly rustling silk which whether in or out of fashion always accompanied her. A tall woman, over fifty, she moved as if she had been tied together at the knees. Her face was long, with broad brows, from which her sandy-grey hair was severely waved back; she had pale eyes, and a perpetual, pale, enigmatic smile.
"It is a friend of Herr Harz," she whispered; "he will drink coffee. I am going to find Chris." "Greta!" gasped Miss Naylor. Mrs. Decie put up her hand. "Ah!" she said, "if it is so, we must be very nice to him for Christian's sake." Miss Naylor's face grew soft. "Ah, yes!" she said; "of course." "Bah!" muttered Herr Paul, "that recommences. "Paul!" murmured Mrs.
Here was the girl, too, who might be in a position to supply the key to the mystery. Undoubtedly, the backbone of the whole thing was the desire for money. Sir Charles Darryll and his friend Lord Edward Decié had been engaged in some adventurous speculation together in Burmah. They had doubtless deemed that speculation to be worthless, but Carl Sartoris had found that they were mistaken.
Miss Naylor looked at her in that concentrated manner with which she was in the habit of expressing displeasure. But at this moment a servant came, and said that Mrs. Decie would be glad to see Herr Harz. The painter made them a stiff bow, and followed the servant to the house. Miss Naylor and the two girls watched his progress with apprehensive eyes; it was clear that he had been offended.
Treffry growled, "is an ass!" "Paul," pursued Mrs. Decie, "is an element of danger in the situation; any ill-timed opposition of his might drive her to I don't know what. Christian is gentle, she is 'sympathetic' as they say; but thwart her, and she is as obstinate as.... "You or I! Leave her alone!" "I understand her character, but I confess that I am at a loss what to do." "Do nothing!"
The old man did not hear her he was too absorbed in his talk he only felt the pressure of his darling's little hand, and returned it, after his wont, with a gentle squeeze of his cassocked arm, while he continued the learned essay he was addressing to young, queer, erudite, simple Dan Loftus, on the descent of the Decie branch of the Desmonds.
I was at his house only last night, and he talked to me very much the same way as you are doing." "I know that," Field said calmly. "I was hiding in the conservatory and listened." Miss Decié gave a little cry of astonishment. "Our profession leads us into strange places," Field said. "I heard all that conversation, so there is no occasion to ask you to repeat it.
She was holding a magazine before her eyes, and received him with as much relief as philosophy permitted. "You are the very person I wanted to see," she said. He noticed that the magazine she held was uncut. "You are a young man," pursued Mrs. Decie, "but as my doctor I have a right to your discretion."
"Yes," Violet Decié said. "I found it in an old memorandum book of mine." "And you were going to post the address to Mr. Sartoris?" "I am afraid the mischief is done," the girl said. "It was posted early this morning." Hot words rose to Field's lips, but he managed to swallow them just in time. He could have wished that the girl had not been quite so businesslike in her methods.
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