"Please, Miss, can I help you? The gentleman is waiting, and dinner is served in eighty-nine."
CHAPTER XXVIII
WITH HASTENING FEET
Because this was her hour and to-morrow all would be over, Isla did not disdain a woman's art. She wished to look beautiful for once in the eyes of the man who loved her, even though she should henceforth disappear from them for ever.
She put on a wonderful frock that had come from the hands of a clever couturière at Nice--a simple black thing, fashioned with such consummate art that it seemed moulded to her figure, showing all its grace. As Riviera fashion dictates, it was high to the neck, with a yoke of clear net through which her white skin shone, while a string of pearls about her stately throat made her sole adornment.
"Oh, Miss, you do look nice!" said the chambermaid as she stepped back from fastening the skirt.
Isla smiled into her eyes. Then she asked where she could find eighty-nine. The girl took her down to the next floor and to the door of the room where Rosmead, in evening dress, was waiting.
"Come," he said with a smile.
He drew her in, and the door was shut.
The warmth of the cheerful fire and the fragrance of flowers met her on the threshold of the private room, where Rosmead had ordered the meal to be served. This was no night for them to dine in a public restaurant--they must be immune from prying eyes.