The rich crown-jewels, love, of Paradise,
When life falls from us like a withered husk.”
As John Dinsmore instinctively turned toward the door, the silk portières were swept aside with a white, jeweled hand, but his disappointment was great, for, instead of beholding Jess, he saw Queenie, in her long, trailing robes of black, standing on the threshold.
He greeted her constrainedly, for he noticed the heightened color that flashed into her face, crimsoning it from brow to chin, and the dazzling smile of welcome on her lips.
Queenie swept into the room and up to his side with the graceful, gliding motion peculiar to her, and which he had always admired so greatly.
Then he noticed that she held something in her hand—a letter.
“You expected to see your wife,” she began, and then hesitated as though at a loss how to proceed.
“Yes,” he answered, and she saw him give a sudden start and turn pale, as he quickly asked:
“Is she not—well?”
A sudden fire leaped into Queenie’s eyes at his solicitude over Jess, and it hardened her heart toward him for being so interested in any human being save herself. She felt no remorse for what she was about to do; no sorrow for the blow her hand was about to inflict.