Everything seemed dancing in kaleidoscopic confusion, and amid the chaos only one grim fact was immovable, she must dress and go down to dinner. Just now, unwelcome as was the task, she dared not neglect it, for her absence might stimulate the investigation she so much dreaded, and wearily she rose and began her toilette.
At half-past seven Hattie entered.
"Aren't you ready, miss? Mrs. Palma says you must hurry down, for the company are all in the parlour, and Mr. Palma has asked for you. Stop a minute, miss. Your sash is all crooked. There, all right. Let me tell you there is more lace and velvet downstairs than you can show, and jewellery! No end of it! But as for born good looks, you can outface them all."
"Don't I look very pale and jaded?"
"Very white, miss; you always do, and red cheeks would be as much out of your style as paint on a corpse. I can tell you what you do look like, more than ever I saw you before; that marble figure with the dove on its finger, which stands in the front parlour bay-window."
It was Mr. Palma's pet piece of sculpture, a statue of "Innocence," originally intended for his library, but Mrs. Palma had pleaded for permission to exhibit it downstairs.
During Regina's residence in New York scarcely a week elapsed without her meeting guests at the dinner-table, and the frequency of the occurrence had quite worn away the awkward shyness with which she had at first confronted strangers. Yet to-day she felt nervously timid as she approached the threshold of the brilliant room, and caught a glimpse of those within.
Two gentlemen stood on the rug talking with Olga, a third sat on a sofa engaged in conversation with Mrs. Palma, while Mrs. St. Clare and her daughter entertained two strangers in the opposite corner, and on a tête-â-tête drawn conspicuously forward under the chandelier were Mr. Palma and Mrs. Carew.
Regina merely glanced at Olga long enough to observe how handsome she appeared, in her rose-hued silk, with its rich black lace garniture, and the spray of crushed pink roses drooping against her neck, then her gaze dwelt upon the woman under the chandelier.
Unusually tall, and proportionately developed, her size might safely have been pronounced heroic, and would by comparison have dwarfed a man of less commanding stature than Mr. Palma; yet so symmetrical was the outline of face and figure that the type seemed wellnigh faultless, and she might have served as a large-limbed rounded model for those majestic women whom Buonaroti painted for the admiration of all humanity, upon the walls of the Sistine.