CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Pluma Hurlhurst received her father’s summons with no little surprise. “What can that foolish old man want, I wonder?” she soliloquized, clasping the diamond-studded bracelets on her perfect arms. “I shall be heartily glad when I am Rex Lyon’s wife. I shall soon tell him, then, in pretty plain words, I am not at his beck and call any longer. Come to him instantly, indeed! I shall certainly do no such thing,” she muttered.
“Did you speak, mademoiselle?” asked the maid.
“No,” replied Pluma, glancing at the little jeweled watch that glittered in its snow-white velvet case. She took it up with a caressing movement. “How foolish I was to work myself up into such a fury of excitement, when Rex sent for me to present me with the jewels!” she laughed, softly, laying down the watch, and taking up an exquisite jeweled necklace, admired the purity and beauty of the soft, white, gleaming stones.
The turret-bell had pealed the hour of eight; she had yet half an hour.
She never could tell what impulse prompted her to clasp the shining gems around her white throat, even before she had removed her dressing-robe.
She leaned back dreamily in her cushioned chair, watching the effect in the mirror opposite.
Steadfastly she gazed at the wondrous loveliness of the picture she made, the dark, lustrous eyes, gleaming with unwonted brilliancy, with their jetty fringe; the rich, red lips, and glowing cheeks.
“There are few such faces in the world,” she told herself triumphantly.