She dropped the curtains. The soft, warm glow of the room came back, and she sighed with relief.
“I hate things that are dead,” she said.
At the sound of a soft tread and the gentle rustle of draperies, they turned. Ranjab, the Hindu, was crossing the room toward the small door which gave entrance to his closet. He paused for an instant before the image of Buddha, but did not drop to his knees, as all devout Buddhists do. Mrs Brood's hand fell lightly upon Lydia's arm. The man turned toward them a second or two later.
His dark, handsome face was hard set and emotionless as he bowed low to the new mistress of the house. The fingers closed tightly on Lydia's arm. Then he smiled upon the girl, a glad smile of devotion. His swarthy face was transfigured. A moment later he unlocked his door and passed into the other room. The key turned in the lock with a slight rasp.
“I do not like that man,” said Mrs Brood. Her voice was low and her eyes were fixed steadily on the closed door.
CHAPTER V
The ensuing fortnight brought the expected changes in the household. James Brood, to the surprise of not only himself, but others, lapsed into a curious state of adolescence. His infatuation was complete. The once dominant influence of the man seemed to slink away from him as the passing days brought up the new problems of life. Where he had lived to command he now was content to serve.
His friends, his son, his servants viewed the transformation with wonder, not to say apprehension. It was not difficult to understand his infatuation for the—shall we say enchantress? He was not the only one there to fall under the spell. But it was almost unbelievable that he should submit to thraldom with the complacency of a weakling.