“Delicious!” and she inhaled a long breath of the fresh, moist air.
“Wait for me just a moment, and I will bring you the glass of water,” and he vanished.
An inviting obscurity pervaded this conservatory, which, like the rest of the Van Koover mansion, was spacious and impressive. At the farther end, the gloom was picturesquely broken by rays of moonlight slanting through the lofty windows. The only living occupants seemed to be one or two pairs of invisible lovers, whose voices were faintly audible above the splashing of the little fountain in the centre. This busy fountain formed a discreet accompaniment to the flirtations in the surrounding shrubbery. Stepping to the side of the basin, she stood for a moment looking down into its diminutive depths. The falling water and the distant music formed a soothing melody, and a welcome restfulness stole gently upon her senses as she inhaled, with the fragrance of the tropics, the peace and poetry of a summer night. She stood for a moment yielding to a gentle enchantment; it seemed a different world, apart from the great city in which she lived, a world of flowers, and perfumes, of fountains and perpetual music; of moonlight and of whispering lovers.
At last, as if waking from a dream, the girl raised her head and looked toward the windows beyond, where a flood of moonlight illumined deep masses of exotic foliage, repeating them in fantastic shadows on the marble floor. Walking slowly from the fountain, she lingered between the overhanging palms, then stepped into the moonbeams, a radiant figure with her bare neck and arms and glistening jewels in this full white light, against the gloom of the conservatory. The diamonds in the crescent above her forehead flashed as if quivering into life as she stopped and looked up at the planet.
A figure close beside her, that had formed part of the surrounding shadow, started back with a suddenness that caused her, also, to retreat a step and press a hand to her heart. It was more from nervousness than fear, as she was simply startled. She at once recovered herself, ashamed at being taken off her guard, but a glance at the man beside her, whose face was now also in the light, filled her with a fresh surprise. It was the Oriental beauty; the murderer, Judd, and the intensity of his expression almost frightened her. His eyes were fixed upon her own in speechless wonder, and as they moved to the crescent in her hair, then back again to her face, they showed both terror and astonishment. Yet it seemed a look of recognition, for he bent eagerly forward, as if to make sure he were not mistaken.
It was all in an instant. Then, with a step backward and an inclination of the head, he stammered:
“I beg your pardon. I—I was startled. Pray forgive me.”
He gave an arm to his companion, a pretty girl in pink who, standing behind him, had missed the details of the little scene, and they walked away among the plants and out of the conservatory.
Later in the evening, as Miss Cabot stood near the door of the ball-room, the girl with whom she was speaking introduced a friend, and she found herself again in the presence of the Connecticut farmer, the young man of the moonlight. But this time he wore a very different expression from that of the conservatory. There was a pleasant smile on the dark and somewhat boyish face as he apologized for the scene among the plants. “I am sorry if it annoyed you, but I was startled by an unexpected resemblance.”
She looked into his eyes as he spoke, and understood why the sculptor should have been enthusiastic over such a face. It was of an unfamiliar type, and bore a curious resemblance to those she had attributed as a child to the heroes of her imagination. The eyes were long, dark, and seemed capable of any quantity of expression, either good or bad. Miss Cabot was uncertain as to whether they pleased her. At present they looked somewhat anxiously into her own with a touch of misgiving. Nevertheless, she felt that he was telling her only a portion of the truth.