Joanna is sitting there alone, her golden hair neatly arranged about her blonde face; her noble form clad in a flowing robe of snowy whiteness. She is very beautiful. True, her face is very pale, but her lips are red and a flush burns on each cheek. True, beneath each eye a faint blue circle may be traced, but the eyes themselves, blue as a cloudless sky in June, shine with an intensity that almost changes their hue into black in the soft, luxurious light. Joanna is very beautiful,—a woman of commanding form and voluptuous bust,—the loose robe which she wears, by its flowing folds, gives a new charm, a more fascinating loveliness to every detail of her figure.
Holding the evening paper in her right hand, she beats the carpet somewhat impatiently with her satin-slippered foot.
Her eye rests upon a paragraph in the evening paper:—
"Affair in High Life.—There was a rumor about town, to-day, of an affair of honor in high life—among the 'upper ten,'—the truth of which, at the hour of going to press, we are not able, definitely, to ascertain. The parties named are the elegant and distinguished B——y B——n, and E——e L——ng——e, a well-known member of the old aristocracy, in the upper region of the city. A domestic difficulty is assigned as the cause; and one of the parties is stated to have been severely, if not mortally, wounded. By to-morrow we hope to be able to give the full particulars."
Joanna read this paragraph, and her glance dropped, and she remained for a long time buried in deep thought.
"Will he come?" she said at length, as if thinking aloud.
The silence of the vast mansion was around her, but it did not seem to fill her with awe. She remained sitting on the sofa, the evening paper in her hand, and her face impressed with profound thought.
"Hark!" she ejaculated, as a faint noise was heard in the hall without. She started, but did not rise from the sofa.
The door opened stealthily, with scarcely a perceptible sound, and a man clad in a rough overcoat, with great white buttons, a cap drawn over his brow, and a red neckerchief wound about the collar of his coat, came silently into the room and approached Joanna.
"Who are you?" she cried, as if in alarm,—"Your business here?"