“It has that effect,” replied Larkin, “but I think you will understand—”
He did not complete the sentence. The servant had returned. He was bowing low, indicating that the visitors should enter the gateway to the right — the barrier being wide open. Larkin turned to Margaret.
The girl walked to the doorway. She passed through it and stopped, her eyes wide with wonder.
The marvelous hallway was trivial, compared to the room which she had entered. The apartment was a marvel of Oriental splendor.
Gorgeous golden cloth adorned the walls. Priceless bits of statuary stood in abundance. Wonderful cushions lay everywhere upon the floor.
The rug beneath the girl’s feet seemed inches thick. From a brazen burner, a curling thread of incense wound upward toward the ceiling. The glory of the place was overwhelming. Margaret stood entranced.
Her gaze traveled everywhere. But at last it centered on the principal spot of the room — a divan in the farther corner. There, reclining in state, was a man of dark complexion. The divan was a sort of bed.
The man was sitting up, beneath a pile of robes. He wore an Oriental jacket that sparkled with emeralds, set upon red velvet. His head was covered with a mass of thick, black hair. His sallow cheeks were clean shaven.
THE man possessed a handsomeness of countenance that attracted the girl instantly. As his head inclined in a slight bow, Margaret lost all sense of her surroundings. She could see only the divan and its occupant.
The man held out a jeweled hand and indicated a pile of gold-covered cushions that made a chair beside him. Understanding the motion, Margaret advanced and sat beside the couch. She extended her own hand. The man received it with a friendly clasp.