“Why not?” and Dimitrius himself entered the room. “Why not, Miss May? Many a woman and many a man has been known to make short work with an agreement,—what is it but ‘a scrap of paper’? And there are any number of Humans who would judge it ‘clever’ to run off with money confidingly entrusted to them!”
“You are cynical,” said Diana. “And I don’t think you mean what you say. You know very well that honour stands first with every right-thinking man or woman.”
“Right-thinking! Oh, yes!—I grant you that,”—and he drew a chair up to the tea-table where his mother had just seated herself. “But ‘right-thinking’ is a compound word big enough to cover a whole world of ethics and morals. If ‘right-thinking’ were the rule instead of the exception, we should have a real Civilisation instead of a Sham!”
Diana looked at him more critically and attentively than she had yet done. His personality was undeniably attractive,—some people would have considered him handsome. He had wonderful eyes,—they were his most striking feature—dark, deep, and sparkling with a curiously brilliant intensity. He had spoken of his Russian nationality, but there was nothing of the Kalmuck about him,—much more of the picturesque Jew or Arab. An indefinable grace distinguished his movements, unlike the ordinary type of lumbersome man, who, without military or other training, never seems to know what to do with his hands or his feet. He noticed Diana’s intent study of him, and smiled—a charming smile, indulgent and kindly.
“I mystify you a little already!” he said. “Yes, I am sure I do!—but there are so many surprises in store for you that I think you had better not begin putting the pieces of the puzzle together till they are all out of the box! Never mind what I seem to you, or what I may turn out to be,—enjoy for the present the simple safety of the Commonplace; there’s nothing so balancing to the mind as a quiet contemplation of the tea-table! By the way, did you arrange about your luggage as I told you?”
Diana nodded a cheerful assent.
“Here’s the number,” she said. “And if you are going to send for it, would you do so quite soon? I want to change my dress for dinner.”
Dimitrius laughed as he took the number from her hand.
“Of course you do!” he said. “Even ‘a woman of mature years’ is never above looking her best! Armed with this precious slip of paper, I will send for your belongings at once——”
“It’s only a portmanteau,” put in Diana, meekly. “Not a Saratoga trunk.”