“Oh, my dear!” she said. “What do you think of it all?”
“Well,” confessed Rita, looking about her, “personally I feel rather nervous.”
“My dear!” cried Mollie. “I am simply quivering with delicious terror!”
Rita became silent again, looking about her, and listening. The harsh voice of the Cuban-Jewess could be heard from a neighboring room, but otherwise a perfect stillness reigned in the house of Sin Sin Wa. She remembered that Mrs. Sin had said, “It is quiet—so quiet.”
“The idea of undressing and reclining on these divans in real oriental fashion,” declared Mollie, giggling, “makes me feel that I am an odalisque already. I have dreamed that I was an odalisque, dear—after smoking, you know. It was heavenly. At least, I don’t know that ‘heavenly’ is quite the right word.”
And now that evil spirit of abandonment came to Rita—communicated to her, possibly, by her companion. Dread, together with a certain sense of moral reluctance, departed, and she began to enjoy the adventure at last. It was as though something in the faintly perfumed atmosphere of the place had entered into her blood, driving out reserve and stifling conscience.
When Sir Lucien reappeared she ran to him excitedly, her charming face flushed and her eyes sparkling.
“Oh, Lucy,” she cried, “how long will our things be? I’m keen to smoke!”
His jaw hardened, and when he spoke it was with a drawl more marked than usual.
“Mareno will be here almost immediately,” he answered.