Against the advice of the Major, who had known and detested Gabriel Mostyn, she called on Gabriel Mostyn's daughter and left her card, with the hope that the visit would be returned. On the evening of the day she had done this, she was waiting for dinner in the little drawing-room, and Major Griff, in evening dress, was lounging against the mantelpiece with a glass of sherry at his elbow, listening to her remarks.
A handsome woman was Mrs. Veilsturm, as she leaned back in a deep arm-chair, fanning herself slowly with all the grace and languor of a Creole. A dusky skin, masses of coal-black hair, with a suspicion of frizziness, betraying the African blood, large black eyes, a sensual, full-lipped mouth, and the figure of a Juno, she was a wonderfully handsome woman in a full-blooded way. Her arms and neck were beautifully proportioned, and dressed as she was, with the negro's love for bright tints, in a lemon-coloured dress, with great masses of crimson flowers at her breast and in her hair, she looked a beautiful imperious creature, with a touch of the treacherous grace of the tiger in the indolent repose of her lithe limbs. A painter would have admired her voluptuous form, a poet would have raved on the dusky beauty of her face, with the sombre light in the sleepy eyes; but no man who had any instinct of self-preservation would have trusted this feline loveliness, so suggestive of treachery and craft. Some highly imaginative man averred that Mrs. Veilsturm put him in mind of a snake, and certainly there was more than a resemblance to a serpent in the sinuous grace of her evil beauty.
As for Major Griff, he was a tall, dried-up man, like a stick; with a hard, handsome face, iron-grey hair and moustache, and keen eyes, which looked everyone straight in the face. A thorough scamp, it was true, yet with sufficient dexterity to hide his scampishness, and a military cut-and-dried brevity which disarmed suspicion. Some rogues fawn and supplicate to gain their ends, but not so the Major, who habitually grave, plain in his speech, and brusque in his manner, gave everyone the impression of being a blunt, straightforward soldier. He was stopping at a friend's house in the town of Starton, which was a short distance away, and had come over on a friendly visit to Mrs. Veilsturm, who lived mostly alone, as her house was not large enough to enable her to receive company. This did not matter, as she generally dined out every night, but on this special evening, the two had to consult about their plans, so Mrs. Veilsturm had refused an invitation with many thanks, but "you see I have to speak about business connected with my West Indian Estates with my trustee, Major Griff," and the givers of the invitation were quite impressed with an idea of her wealth. The West Indian Estates were a capital bait wherewith to gull people as, being at a distance, no one could deny their existence, and the very mention of them had a golden sound, suggestive of toiling slaves and untold riches.
"So you did do what I told you not to, Maraquita?" growled the Major, who called Mrs. Veilsturm by her Christian name when alone.
"If you mean in the way of calling upon Lady Errington, yes," she replied indolently, sweeping her sandal-wood fan to and fro and diffusing a subtle eastern perfume through the room.
She had a beautiful voice, full, rich and mellow, yet with a certain roughness which grew more pronounced when she became excited. Anyone would have been fascinated by this voluptuous beauty lounging in the chair, while the dreamy fragrance of the sandal-wood seemed to add to her rich, eastern look, but custom had habituated Major Griff to this barbaric loveliness, and he spoke curtly, being annoyed and making no effort to conceal his annoyance.
"You were wrong, quite wrong, I tell you," he observed, taking a sip of sherry.
"Do you think I'm a fool?" asked Mrs. Veilsturm harshly, with a frown.
"I do! What woman isn't--on occasions?" was the polite response.
Mrs. Veilsturm laughed in a sneering fashion, in nowise offended, as the private conversations of this precious pair were apt to be rather disagreeable at times, but the Major, always cool and imperturbable, knew better than to provoke the Creole's wrath, which resembled, in its force and terror, the storms of her native land.