In the centre of a brilliantly-lit conservatory, with golden
columns, a young man was standing. As her fan dropped on the
tessellated pavement, he came forward, picked it up, and put it in
her rigid and mechanical fingers. The party, who had applauded her
apparently artistic climax, laughingly pushed by her into the
conservatory, without noticing her agitation.
It was the same face and figure she remembered as last standing
before her, holding back the crowding grain in the San Antonio
field. But here he was appareled and appointed like a gentleman,
and even seemed to be superior to the garish glitter of his new
surroundings.
"I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss Saltonstall," he
said, with the faintest suggestion of his former manner in his
half-resentful sidelong glance. "I hear that you offered to
dispense with my services, but I knew that Mr. Prince would
scarcely be satisfied if I did not urge it once more upon you in
person. I am his private secretary."
At the same moment, Amita and Raymond, attracted by the
conversation, turned towards him. Their recognition of the man
they had seen at Dr. West's was equally distinct. The silence
became embarrassing. Two pretty girls of the party pressed to
Amita's side, with half-audible whispers. "What is it?" "Who's
your handsome and wicked-looking friend?" "Is this the surprise?"
At the sound of their voices, Maruja recovered herself coldly.
"Ladies," she said, with a slight wave of her fan, "this is Mr.
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