"Then give me your arm," she laughed. And they followed the others in to dinner. Wray's other neighbor was Mrs. Rumsen, his host's sister. Camilla had related many tales of her social prowess, and she was really the only person at the table of whom Jeff stood the least in awe. Mrs. Rumsen's nose was aquiline like her brother's, her eyebrows high and slightly arched, her eyes small and rather close together, as though nature had intended them for a short but concentrated vision. She held her head very erect, and from her great height was enabled without pretence to look down on all lesser things. Cortland had described her as a grenadier, and, as Wray realized that the moment when he must talk to her was inevitably approaching, he lost some faith in his moods and tenses.
"Mr. Wray," she began, in a tone which was clearly to be heard the length of the table, "you have a handsome wife."
"Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "I'm glad you think so, Mrs. Rumsen."
"A woman with her looks and your money could have the world at her feet if she wished."
"Yes. I've told her the same thing. But I don't think she likes a fuss. Why, I sent up a whole carload of hats—all colors, with plumes and things, but she wouldn't have one of them."
The old lady's deep wrinkles relaxed.
"And diamonds——" he went on. "She's got half a peck, but I can't get her to put them on."
Mrs. Rumsen did not reply, only examined him with her small eyes through her lorgnon.
"You know, Mr. Wray, ever since you came into the room you have been a puzzle to me. Your features resemble those of some one I have known—years ago—some one I have known intimately—curious I can't——"
"Have you ever been West?"