Never had he talked to any beautiful woman who was so thoroughly unsophisticated; and that somewhat plebeian nature had a curious charm for him. He could understand Vansittart’s infatuation for such a woman, but could not understand his giving her up for the sake of Eve Marchant, whose charms as compared with Lisa’s were
“As moonlight unto sunlight, or as water unto wine.”
He hoped to discover all the history of that intrigue by-and-by, seeing how freely Lisa talked of herself to an acquaintance of an hour. He meant to follow up that acquaintance with all the earnestness of which he was capable.
“There are no finer diamonds in the room than your necklace,” he said, when she had been praising an ancient dowager’s jewels, gems whose beauty was not enhanced by a neck that looked as if its bony structure had been covered with one of the family parchments.
“Do you really like them?” asked Lisa, with a flashing smile.
“She doesn’t even blush for her spoil,” thought Sefton.
“I’m so glad you think them good,” continued Lisa. “They are all my fortune. The jeweller told me I should never repent buying them.”
“What, Signora, did you buy them? I thought they were the offering of some devoted admirer.”
“Do you suppose I would accept such a gift from any one except—except somebody I cared for?” she exclaimed indignantly. “A man sent me a diamond bracelet one night at the theatre—I found it in my dressing-room when I arrived—with his card. I sent it back next morning—or at least Zinco sent it back for me.”
“And I dare say you have even forgotten the man’s name?” said Sefton.