She sat in the low chair, her elbows on her knees, gazing gloomily into the fire. The loose gown of pale lilac silk, with deep lace at the collar and cuffs, suited her fair complexion admirably, although it imparted to her a wan appearance, and made her look older than she really was, while the tendrils of her gold-brown hair, straying across her brow, gave her a wild, wanton look. Even as she sat, her eyes fixed upon the leaping flames, hers was still a countenance frail, childlike in its softness, purity, and innocence of expression—a face perfect in its symmetry, and one in which it was difficult to conceive that any evil could lurk.
The diamonds upon her fingers sparkling in the fitful firelight caught her gaze. She looked long and earnestly at the strange ring of turquoise and diamonds upon her right hand, and the sad memories it recalled caused her to sigh deeply, as they ever did. Again she remained plunged in a deep debauch of melancholy, until suddenly the was aroused from her reverie by a loud knocking at her door and her hotel number being shouted by the lad in buttons.
“Gentleman wishes to see you, ma’am,” the youngster said, handing her another card.
She glanced quickly at the name, then rising slowly, answered—
“Show him up.”
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, but to her cheeks there came a slight flush, whether of excitement or of anger it was difficult to determine. Her brows were knit, and, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, she felt dissatisfied with herself, because she knew she looked haggard and ugly.
As she turned away from the glass with a gesture of determination, Frank Tristram entered.
“Well,” she inquired, turning quickly upon him the moment they were alone. “Why have you the audacity to seek me?”
“Hear me out, Gemma, before you grow angry!” he exclaimed, advancing towards her. “I have come to crave your forgiveness;” and he stood with bent head before her, motionless, penitent.
“My forgiveness? You ask that after your attempt to take my life?” she retorted.