“My dear Robert! My dear son! To think of my not knowing you. But how you have changed! You have changed immensely.”
“Ten years do change a fellow.”
“Ten years, my boy? You keep no count. It will be twelve in June.”
Even at seventy Mr. Lee must have retained some love of the dramatic, for he insisted on taking Vickers upstairs, and entered the drawing-room leaning on his arm, and saying suavely,
“Ladies, I want to introduce my son to you.”
Vickers had been away from home for seven years, and in that time the highest type of feminine beauty which he had seen had been little round-faced Rosita, with her coarse muslins and cotton lace. And now he suddenly found himself the center of interest to a group of half a dozen women, to whose natural beauty care, taste, fashion, and money had added everything that could adorn. Their soft shining dresses, their pretty necks and arms, their endless jewels dazzled him. He thought of his own little party—of Ascencion’s efforts, of the phonograph, of the macaw.
The room, too, was incredibly warm and bright and luxurious in his eyes. The Lees prided themselves on its simplicity. It was more of a library, Nellie always said, than a drawing-room. But on Vickers, who had lived seven years with tiled floors and stucco walls, the dark red hangings, the shaded lamps, the books, the heavy rugs, made a profound impression.
Even in the first excitement, his prudence and his curiosity alike suggested the importance of at once discovering the identity of Nellie. His eye fell on Mrs. Raikes, sleek, dark, well bred as a fox terrier. She was the most cordial of the little group. Again his glance turned to an exuberant blonde, who stood with large blue eyes fixed upon him. Every man has it in him to admire an exuberant blonde. He wondered rather hopefully if it could be she.
“I am so glad to see you, Mr. Lee,” Mrs. Raikes was saying. “I had heard of you, but I had begun to think you were mythical, like King Arthur.”
“Why not say like all great heroes?”