THE SWEET-SCENTED NAME
"That's right. I shall expect you. Exactly at two."
And she hung up the receiver. Her voice sounded unusually cold and unmoved—the voice of some one preparing for some significant action. This and the brief conversation made Kragaef wonder not a little. He was accustomed to have long talks on the telephone, and with a lady the conversation often went on quite a while. Irene Vladimirovna had been no exception to this, and her brevity was something new and unexpected—the young man's curiosity was aroused.
He resolved to be most punctual and to get there at two o'clock precisely. He ordered a motor in good time to take him there—he hadn't one of his own.
Kragaef was fairly well acquainted with Madame Omejina, though not intimate with her. She was the widow of a rich landowner who had died some years before. She had her own estates, and the villa to which she had invited Kragaef that evening belonged to her.
There had been strange rumours about her married life. It had been said that her husband often beat her cruelly. And people often wondered that she, an independent
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