Yearningly he extended his arms toward the two, who, absorbed in their low talk, were unconscious of his presence; then the hands fell heavily to his side, the brief smile was swallowed up by scowling shadows, and he turned silently away and went to his own gloomy rooms.
CHAPTER XX.
"Mrs. Powell and her daughter to see Miss Estelle and Miss Edna."
"Why did you not say we were at dinner?" cried Mrs. Murray, impatiently, darting an angry glance at the servant.
"I did, ma'am, but they said they would wait."
As Estelle folded up her napkin and slipped it into the silver ring, she looked furtively at St. Elmo, who, holding up a bunch of purple grapes, said in an indifferent tone to his mother:
"The vineyards of Axarquia show nothing more perfect. This cluster might challenge comparison with those from which Red Hermitage is made, and the seeds of which are said to have been brought from Schiraz. Even on the sunny slopes of Cyprus and Naxos I found no finer grapes than these. A propos! I want a basketful this afternoon. Henry, tell old Simon to gather them immediately."
"Pray what use have you for them? I am sure the courteous idea of sending them as a present never could have forced an entrance into your mind, much less have carried the outworks of your heart!"
As his cousin spoke she came to the back of his chair and leaned over his shoulder.
"I shall go out on the terrace and renew the obsolete Dionysia, shouting 'Evoe! Eleleus!' I shall crown and pelt my marble Bacchus yonder with the grapes till his dainty sculptured limbs are bathed in their purple sacrificial blood. What other use could I possibly have for them?"