“No, not that. But a sensible, commonplace girl, who can talk without crying.”
“Commonplace isn’t exactly the word I’d choose to describe you, you wonder-thing! But run away and powder your nose, it needs it. Ha, I thought that would stir you up!” as Natalie pouted. “Run along, and I’ll see you at dinner time. And this evening we’ll have our chat.”
But that evening Orienta came. Joyce had refused to listen to any one’s objections and had made the appointment with the clairvoyant to come for a preliminary conference whether she gave them a séance or not.
Barry and Natalie refused at first to meet the visitor, but Joyce persuaded them to see her, so that they might argue intelligently for or against her. Beatrice consented to be present, for Joyce had begged it as a special favour.
And so, when Blake ushered the stranger into the Reception Room she was greeted pleasantly by all the members of the household.
Nor was this perfunctory, for the charm of the guest was manifest from the first. At her entrance, at the first sound of her low, silvery voice, each hearer was thrilled as by an unexpected bit of music.
“Mrs. Stannard?” she said, as Joyce rose and held out her hand. The long cloak of deep pansy-coloured satin fell back showing its lining of pale violet, and the dark Oriental face lighted with responsive cordiality, while she returned the greetings.
Selecting a stately, tall-backed chair, Orienta sank into it, and crossed her dainty feet on a cushion which Barry offered. Her purple hat was like a turban, but its soft folds were neither conspicuous nor eccentric. She chose to keep her hat on, and also retained her long cloak, which, thrown back, disclosed her robe of voluminous folds of dull white silk. Made in Oriental design, it was yet modishly effective and suited well the type of its wearer.
Though not beautiful, the woman was wonderfully charming. In looking at her each auditor forgot self and others in contemplation of this strange personality. Each of the four observing her had eyes only for her, and didn’t even glance aside to question the others’ approval.
Without seeming to notice this mute tribute, Orienta began to speak. “We will waste no time in commonplaces,” she said, her voice as perfectly modulated as that of a great actress, “they cannot interest us at this time. It is for you to tell me whether or not you wish to command my services in this matter of mystery. If so, well,—if not, I go away, and that is all.”