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"She terrifies me," were her next words.
"I will not betray your confidence, Miss Dallas. Will you not trust me? You ought to give me a reason for your fears."
"I cannot—I dare not; I have said far too much already. Don't keep me, Mr. Druce. She must not find us together."
As she spoke she pushed her way through the crowd, and before I could stop her was standing by Madame Sara's side.
The reception in Portland Place was, I remember, on the 26th of July. Two days later the Selbys were to give their final "At-home" before leaving for the country. I was, of course, invited to be present, and Madame was also there. She had never been dressed more splendidly, nor had she ever before looked younger or more beautiful. Wherever she went all eyes followed her. As a rule her dress was simple, almost like what a girl would wear, but tonight she chose rich Oriental stuffs made of many colours, and absolutely glittering with gems. Her golden hair was studded with diamonds. Round her neck she wore turquoise and diamonds mixed. There were many younger women in the room, but not the youngest nor the fairest had a chance beside Madame. It was not mere beauty of appearance, it was charm—charm which carries all before it.
I saw Miss Dallas, looking slim and tall and pale, standing at little distance. I made my way to her side. Before I had time to speak she bent towards me.
"Is she not divine?" she whispered. "She bewilders and delights everyone. She is taking London by storm."
"Then you are not afraid of her to-night?" I said.
"I fear her more than ever. She has cast a spell over me. But listen, she is going to sing again."
I had not forgotten the song that Madame had given us at the Farringdons', and stood still to listen. There was a complete hush in the room. Her voice floated over the heads of the assembled guests in a dreamy Spanish song. Edith told me that it was a slumber song, and that Madame boasted of her power of putting almost anyone to sleep who listened to her rendering of it.
"She has many patients who suffer from insomnia," whispered the girl," and she generally cures them with that song, and that alone. Ah! we must not talk; she will hear us."
Before I could reply Selby came hurrying up. He had not noticed Edith. He caught me by the arm.
"Come just for a minute into this window, Dixon," he said. "I must speak to you. I suppose you have no news with regard to my brother-in-law?"
"Not a word," I answered.
"To tell you the truth, I am getting terribly put out over the matter. We cannot settle any of our money affairs just because this man chooses to lose himself. My wife's lawyers wired to Brazil yesterday, but even his bankers do not know anything about him."
"The whole thing is a question of time," was my answer. "When are you off to Hampshire?"
"On Saturday."
As Selby said the last words he looked around him, then he dropped his voice.
