And all this time she felt the small eyes of Soloman upon her. At times his eyes merely twinkled; at others his lips curled in a smile. Then again he seemed anxious.
When, on rare occasions, he broke the silence to murmur, “Beautiful! Beautiful!” she knew that the praise came from the very depths of his soul and she was glad.
“Does he know that I am not Lorena LeMar?” she said to Tom one night. “He must!”
“N-no. Well, perhaps. I am sure he does not know who you are.”
“And if he did?” Jeanne’s heart stood still.
“If God found a human as perfect as you are mixed with the angels,” Tom smiled, “I think He would let that human remain with the angels.”
“But Soloman is not God.”
“He’s no fool either.”
They left it at that, but Jeanne did not cease, at times, to tremble.
There was no picture on the clouds these days. So weary was she when at last each day was done, that she crept away to Lorena LeMar’s sumptuous apartment to sleep the hours away.