I could not have explained why this dazzling woman, who had filled so wide a space in my fancy, now looked a negligible quantity, an intrusion. There was little of the sparkle that I had expected. The childlike coquetries, the careless abandon, the subtleties that had flitted so unconsciously through the conduct of the Lentala I remembered,—these and a thousand other graces were absent from the sedater young woman smiling upon us and composedly seating us.
She had greeted us with a warning finger on her lips.
“My servants,” she explained in a low, rich voice, “are all in bed and asleep. But they are not far away, and we must be careful.” There was a curious reminder of Annabel’s preciseness in this new Lentala.
She must have felt my discomfort, for she let some of her consciousness slip away, and a dash of her native wildness gradually returned.
“Beelo has told me everything,” she said; “I’ll not trouble you with questions. And we are not to discuss any plans tonight.”
The beauty and richness of the room came forth, faint in the light of suspended lamps, which, clouded in thin fabrics, cast no shadows and softened all contours. A rich massing of hammered gold and silver, of exquisite bronzes and ivories, of hangings and rugs, was softened to grace by their perfect arrangement, and over that in turn was a fine breath of daintiness. My astonishment grew as the significance of it came over me. Did this girl, all seeming innocence, gentleness, and kindness, feel none of the crime and blood with which these treasures were drenched? Yet only the sweetest of spirits could have cast upon this charnel-house loot the cleansing that held its grisly suggestion back.
She had been moving about and gently chatting, and I had made empty responses. At last I discovered that she was growing nervous. A heavy crash of thunder brought out the cause. She looked anxious, and said: “The storm is near. You must go before it breaks. Beela”—I noted her odd pronunciation of the final syllable—“said that if he didn’t return in ten minutes you must go without him, but I can’t think of that. He has been gone much longer.”
I tried to assure her that we could go alone, but still she was uneasy. Christopher and I rose. She came and laid a hand on my arm.
“Wait a little while.” She hesitated over the next words. “Do you like Beela—Beelo?”
“Very much,” I answered dully.