Barnard did not conceal his chagrin and disappointment. “So that you may receive attentions from other men?” he asked, his jealousy instantly aflame.
“You wrong me,” Janet drew herself away with gentle dignity. “You, least of all, have no cause for jealousy. Only, Chichester, I must know my own mind before our engagement is announced.”
“Have it your own way; I am wax in your hands,” he said fondly.
“Hark! there goes the music,” Janet studied her dance card. “It must be an extra.”
“Good, we’ll sit it out together,” and he took her hand.
“To think tomorrow is Christmas,” said Janet dreamily, a few minutes later. “Or is it midnight now?” Barnard pulled out his watch, and her attention was focused on the handsome seal that hung from the gold fob. “Let me see it, Chichester?”
He seemed not to hear her request. “Only eleven!” he exclaimed. “It must be later. I believe my watch has stopped. Can you hear any ticking?” raising it to her ear.
“She was about to call her by name, when Janet quietly took up a diamond sunburst.”
Upstairs in Mrs. Walbridge’s sumptuously furnished bedroom Marjorie rested on the lounge in an alcove. Only one electric light over the dressing-table was turned on, and the semi-darkness of the large room proved a welcome refuge from the glare and heat downstairs, and the deadly faintness which had almost overcome Marjorie, gradually disappeared. An occasional shiver shook her, and she groped about and pulled up the eiderdown quilt which lay folded at the foot of the lounge. Through the half-shut door strains of music came faintly, preventing her from dozing off, and she turned restlessly on her pillow. Suddenly conscious that her left hand was tightly clenched, she loosened her cramped fingers, and discovered that she still held Barnard’s signet ring concealed in her rumpled handkerchief.