She was expecting him, and her pretty flat was charmingly arranged to receive him, and herself charmingly dressed for the same purpose. She had admired his strong, earnest, dark face in the court the day before, and she was not in the least afraid of showing this. As she rose to receive him—a tall, graceful, slender woman—she held out a shapely white hand.
“I am very much pleased that you have come to see me, Mr. Webster,” she said.
“Thanks, very much, for your kind permission to do so,” replied Ralph Webster.
She was really scarcely handsome, and yet she gave you the impression that she was so. She had large, restless gray eyes, and rather a pretty, piquant nose, but her mouth was not good. It was too wide, and her smile somewhat saucy and defiant. Yet altogether her appearance was attractive, and many men, it was said, had fallen victims to her charms.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she went on in her airy fashion, smiling on Ralph Webster; “but for you my character for honesty would be gone.”
“I trust not quite that.”
Miss Weir held up her pretty white hands.
“I wish you had seen the senior Mr. Jordon’s face then, when I offered my poor paste diamonds for his inspection, telling him how much the brooch and earrings had cost. He looked, ‘Woman, dare you attempt to impose on me!’ if ever a man’s thoughts were written on his countenance.”
“Do you think they often are?”