Gordon’s new study was in the dome of the Temple commanding a wonderful view of the great city, its rivers and bays, and the long dim line of the open sea beyond the towers of Coney Island. It was his habit to take an early breakfast on Sunday mornings and spend the three hours before his services there.
When Overman reached the house at ten o’clock, clouds had obscured the sun, The air was wet and penetrating, and charged with the premonition of storm. He felt nervous, excited and irritable.
The maid showed him into the spacious library, where a cheerful fire of red-hot coals glowed, and his spirits rose.
He stood before the fire without removing his top coat, and the maid said:
“Mrs. Gordon says to make yourself comfortable. The day is so raw she will not go out. She will be down in a moment.”
He removed his coat, sank into an easy chair, and began to wonder what could be the meaning of that note. He knew intuitively that he was approaching a crisis in his life.
He felt a sense of anxiety and discomfort at the idea of spending the morning alone with his friend’s wife. Yet he told himself he had no choice—it was fate. A woman had arranged it.
When Kate entered the room, he sprang to his feet with a cry of amazement at the vision of radiant beauty sweeping with sinuous step to meet him. He had never seen her so conscious of power or with better reason for it.
She was dressed in a gown of pink-and-white filmy stuff, which clung to her form, revealing its beautiful lines from the rounded shoulders to the tips of her dainty slippers. The sleeves were open to the elbow, showing the magnificent bare arms. From the shoulders, soft diaphanous draperies hung straight down the length of her figure, revealing by contrast more sharply the graceful curves of the body. The throat was bare, and her smooth ivory neck glowed in round fulness against the background of her hair falling in waves of fiery splendour.
Around her shapely waist hung a double cord of silver, knotted low in front and drawn below the knee by heavy tassels.