The girl paused, looked toward him, and, after a little hesitation, crossed the hall.
"Permit me to show you the way," she said. "The servant should not have left you so."
Hepworth did not speak, but stood gazing upon her blankly. Her beauty had struck him dumb.
She made a little gesture with her hand and moved on. He followed, without a word, by the marble faun, through the lifted curtains, and into the presence of Olympia, who was walking up and down the Gobelin carpet, with the light of a Venetian chandelier falling over her.
She was becoming impatient for the arrival of her guests. Yet the room seemed peopled fully; for, on every hand, mirrors that seemed framed in a network of gold, threw back and duplicated the group that stood there, the rich coloring of the draperies, two vases of Malachite and Sevres, the gifts of emperors, and the carpet, where masses of blossoms seemed starting into fresh bloom, wherever a footstep trod them down.
"Mr. Hepworth!" cried Olympia; "my good American friend! This is a happiness!"
Hepworth bowed over the white hand she held out; but did not kiss it, as she might have expected, being used to all sorts of homage.
She looked at him in pleasant astonishment, dropped her hand with a faint laugh, and turned to the young girl.
"Caroline, you have never seen Mr. Hepworth, I think."
"Closs, Hepworth Closs, dear lady; you forget."