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Updated: June 28, 2025
Nigel, who was in ordinary evening dress, carrying his discarded mask in his hand, was paler than usual and exceedingly grave. Naida's dark eyes, too, seemed filled with a sense of awesome things. Almost at the same moment, Maggie realised for the first time that the music had ceased, that there was a hush outside, curiously perceptible, almost audible.
We were just going in to supper." Miss Spencer's glance swept over the silent young officer. "I believe I have had the honor. It was my privilege to be introduced to the gentleman by a mutual friend." The inward rush of hungry guests swept them all forward in laughing, jostling confusion; but Naida's cheeks burned with indignation.
"He was perfectly splendid." "Aunt Lydia did n't think so. She wrote he was a common gambler, a low, rough man." "Well, he did gamble; nearly everybody does out here. And sometimes I suppose he had to fight, but he wasn't truly bad." Miss Spencer's eyes evinced a growing interest. "Was he real nice-looking?" she asked. Naida's voice faltered. "Ye es," she said. "I thought so.
Something indefinable had arisen between them which held the man dumb and nerveless. Suddenly they came face to face with Mrs. Herndon, and Brant felt the girl's arm twitch. "I have been looking everywhere for you, Naida," Mrs. Herndon said, a slight complaint in her voice. "We were going home." Naida's cheeks reddened painfully.
Duane Mallett wore a humorously tinted eye and a prehensile upper lip; Scott's nose had again yielded to the coy persuasion of a left-handed jab and the proud blood of the Seagraves once more offended high heaven on that April day. Geraldine, one arm imprisoning Naïda's waist, walked coolly in between them: "Don't let's fight any more. The thing to do is to get Mrs.
"What has happened?" she asked breathlessly. Nigel had poured out a glass of wine and was holding it to Naida's lips. "Something very terrible," he said quietly. "Prince Shan was murdered in his box there a few minutes ago." Maggie half rose to her feet. The walls seemed spinning round. Then she looked across the great empty space. The still figure in the apple-green coat had disappeared.
Aunt Lydia has written so much about you that I feel as If we must have known each other for years. Why, how pretty you are!" Naida's cheeks were burning, and her eyes fell, but she had never yet succeeded in conquering the blunt independence of her speech. "Nobody else ever says so," she said, uneasily. "Perhaps it's the light." Miss Spencer turned her about so as to face the window.
"A woman is content to live anywhere, under certain circumstances," she murmured. Karschoff, discreetly announced, entered the room with flamboyant ease. "It is well to be young!" he exclaimed, as he bent over Naida's fingers.
She and Naïda went away together; later Duane joined them in the library, saying that his father was asleep, holding fast to his wife's hand. Geraldine, her arm around Naïda's waist, had been looking at one of Duane's pictures the only one of his in the house merely a stretch of silvery marsh and a gray, wet sky beyond. "Father liked it," he said; "that's why it's here, Geraldine."
The young officer stood silent, his face pale, his gaze upon the distant Indian fires. Out yonder were defeat, torture, death, and to-morrow meant a renewal of the struggle. His heart was heavy with foreboding, his memory far away with one to whom all this misfortune might come almost as a death-blow. It was Naida's questioning face that haunted him; she was waiting for she knew not what.
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