“It is MY hand!”—Jim’s most fatuous tone. “THERE is where you wore my ring. There’s the mark still.” Sounds of Jim kissing Bella’s ring finger. “What did you do with it? Throw it away?” More sounds.
Aunt Selina crossed the library swiftly, and again I followed. Bella was sitting in a low chair by the fire, looking at the logs, in the most exquisite negligee of pink chiffon and ribbon. Jim was on his knees, staring at her adoringly, and holding both her hands.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Bella was saying, looking as coy as she knew how—which was considerable. “I—I still wear it, on a chain around my neck.”
On a chain around her neck! Bella, who is decollete whenever it is allowable, and more than is proper!
That was the limit of Aunt Selina’s endurance. Still holding me, she stepped through the doorway and into the firelight, a fearful figure.
Jim saw her first. He went quite white and struggled to get up, smiling a sickly smile. Bella, after her first surprise, was superbly indifferent. She glanced at us, raised her eyebrows, and then looked at the clock.
“More victims of insomnia!” she said. “Won’t you come in? Jim, pull up a chair by the fire for your aunt.”
Aunt Selina opened her mouth twice, like a fish, before she could speak. Then—
“James, I demand that that woman leave the house!” she said hoarsely.
Bella leaned back and yawned.