He drew the ticket from his pocket and looked at it under the electric burner; a hair had curled itself round on the paper, by the figures, and formed a little blot after them, which looked something like a closed nought. The ticket, if your eye happened to catch it that way, read £750, and nothing else.
Just as Everest was going to change his clothes for dinner, that evening, the telephone in the studio called him up. He went to it and heard the picture-dealer's voice:
"Would you mind stepping round, sir, for a moment? It's about the picture, and it's important: only please don't say anything to the lady till you've seen me, please, sir."
Everest assented and went back to Regina. She was seated, ready to go out to the restaurant where they usually dined, dressed in a white dress he had chosen for her, very similar to the one she had worn at the Rectory the first night he saw her.
"I like to see you in one like that—it brings such happy associations with it," he had said.
A collar of sapphires he had given her was round her neck, and the jewelled star he had sent to Stossop at her breast.
She looked very lovely, as she always did in evening dress, the wonderful milky whiteness of her skin and its satin surface seemed to hold the eye irresistibly.
Beside her lay her dark cloak, white-lined, ready to slip on. "I am so sorry, but I must go out for a few minutes. Will you amuse yourself till I come back?"
She looked up and saw Everest with his hat and coat on.
"Certainly, don't hurry on my account," she said, smiling up at him, and he went out.