"Not married, are you, Mr. McTaggart? Well—you'd better take care ... a fair wife and a dark one..." He was certain, then and there, that his "Scotch heart" lay in Cydonia's hands.
He watched them now, with a languid grace remove the velvety skin of a peach. The faint colour of the fruit was not more fair than her little pink nails.
But swift on the thought came a vision of Fantine—mischievous, provocative, tingling with life; of dark-fringed eyes and full red lips, and honey-coloured fingers that flashed in quick gesture matching each turn of her gay clipped speech.
He thrust aside the picture, half-angrily; conscious of the atmosphere that hung about the Cadells' house, vaguely ecclesiastic and super-refined. The intrusion of Fantine seemed almost profane, the contrast too crude between this sheltered home and the gilded, over-lighted flat. He could see the long rooms with the doors flung wide and the ever-changing brilliant crowd, elbowing each other round the green table with the piled-up stakes and fluttering cards. He could feel once more the strain that hung in the air, the excitement of the lust for gain, the grasping hands and greedy eyes...
"A penny for your thoughts?" He gave a guilty start. Cydonia was watching him with childish curiosity.
"Impossible—the price is too high!"
He answered her lightly but his face was grave.
"I believe you've gone back to that velvet cap? You looked so solemn. It must be that!"
"More likely I was harassed with this cruel suspense." He leaned a little nearer and lowered his voice.
"You are going to help us? Tell me, don't you want to?—You've no idea how anxious I am that you should take the part."