We stepped within this radiant magnificence. At once conversation ceased, all eyes were focused upon us. But I—ah!—was oblivious to all things; my whole attention chained to the tall, statuesque form of a woman. Masses of jetty, rippling tresses reached the hem of her gown, and perched upon her head, yet fitting closely, revealing perfect outlines, was a cap of dull gold ornamented with slender spikes, a huge gem flashing in the center. She turned and quickly advanced. We bowed low before the majestic dignity of her bearing. And the face! divine, beautiful, darkly tinted, heavy-browed, with deep, strange eyes, whose cold, meaningless, unresponsive stare flashed a dead chill to my heart. God! how common, matter-of-fact the world suddenly appeared. That one moment of terrible disappointment corrupted forever the divine imagery of my heaven. Oh, the folly of looking forward to realizing the crimson vividness of our imagination with Hope, dazzling white, ever circling mid the black dizziness of Disappointment. Yet a life overlooked by these profound calamities is an existence of deepest damnation. But the phantom that roused an idyllic passion stood revealed, and the sombre, chilling orbs were powerfully magnetic. Robed in clinging white, barbarously decked with blazing jewels, she repelled, yet fascinated, compelling the gaze.
She greeted Saxe. with a voice of music, low, sweet, each word distinct. I gasped with the sudden bound my heart gave and clutched Sheldon, as she smiled, then threw back her head with a light laugh. Something Saxe. said amused her. The roseate, smiling phantom was realized; and ecstatically, passionately, with burning, delighted glances, I watched this regal, glorious woman, my first disappointment completely forgotten.
“Easy, easy,” Sheldon murmured. “Don’t blame you, but easy, easy. I——” He saluted deeply the radiant welcome she gave him, and I—I raised her hand to my lips, kissing it twice, thrice. It closed over mine, cold, firm. She watched my action calmly, gravely, passionless; and I, my ardor chilled, remained speechless with emotion.
She was an imperfect woman—a rare blossom blighted before full bloom—hard, freezing, as the terrible ice mountains I had crossed to meet her.
Imperiously she bade me follow her. We were alone, my three friends having wisely strolled away. She led to the alcoved greenery, heavy with the sweet, powerful odor of wonderful exotic plants.
Silently we wandered beneath tall palms and trees of thick foliage, whose branches housed gorgeously plumed, shrill songsters.
I plucked a deep crimson flower and attempted to place it in her hair. She stood quite still, but the task was beyond me. In exasperation I crushed the blossom, then stooping, suddenly pressed a kiss upon the lovely shoulder. She turned sharply.
“What’s the difference!” I cried passionately. “With my eyes I kiss you constantly!”
“Pretty boy,” she murmured musingly. “I have seen you before. I do not remember where.”
I cursed my lack of control as she led me into the glare of brilliant lights again and bade me be seated at a small table in full view of the fantastically garbed banqueters.