The stones that had blocked the door had fallen before the shock of the dynamite.
"Good God!" he whispered. "Do you see what is inside?"
But Jean Sandys, calmly looking untold wealth in its glittering face, sighed, smiled, and turned her blue gaze on her lover, finding in his eyes the only miracle that now had power to hold her undivided attention.
For it is that way with some girls.
But the novelist, unable to endure a dose of his own technique, could no longer control his impatience:[316]
"What in God's name was there in that stone house!" he burst out.
"Oh, Lord!" muttered Stafford, "it is two hours after midnight."
He rose, bent over the girl's hand, and kissed the emerald on the third finger.
Figure after figure, tall, shadowy, leisurely followed his example, while her little hand lay listlessly on the silken cushions and her dreaming eyes seemed to see nobody.