The Russian had removed her ermine cap and it now lay on her silken knees. The ermine cloak was thrown open, displaying the silken clinging draperies of her gown, which was girdled with a wide belt set with square diamonds surrounded with colored jewels in a barbaric and striking design. About her forehead was bound the golden ribbon I had seen that other night; the square-cut diamond twinkled and winked evilly at her every motion. Frightfully bad taste for the simple occasion, but undeniably gorgeous and attractive.
The door bell rang and Mrs. Differdale, throwing me a peculiar look, went to answer it. I heard and recognized a man’s voice.
“Here’s the copy of that deed, Mrs. Differdale. I rushed it through just as quickly as I could, to get it to you this afternoon as you wished.”
“Do come in and have a cup of tea,” urged she. “Miss Delorme’s here.”
“That is an inducement. Of course, I’ll have a cup of tea, if I can drink it with her,” laughed Owen, parting the portieres and smiling down upon us.
“Ah, cher ami,” cried the princess, extending a jeweled hand and monopolizing Owen entirely, so that all he could do was to bow and smile at me across the room, “what a pleasure is this so unexpected meeting, to drink the friendly tea with you in the home of these so kind ones!”
She caressed the two women with her green, glowing eyes, then turned her gaze full upon me.
“What, Ow-een? You do not pay to the Aunt Sophie your respects? Bad man! Go, at once, on the command of Irma Andreyevna Tchernova, and kneel at the feet of Aunt Sophie!”
Owen took immediate advantage of the order, which the Russian flavored with a peculiar smile at me, a smile tinctured with irony and that confidence in her own entire command of the situation that is so exasperating from one woman to another.
Mrs. Differdale poured a cup of tea for the newcomer, and I caught an interchange of glances between her daughter and herself.
“I would have invited my sister-in-law, Miss Delorme, but one doesn’t exactly care to be snubbed more than two or three times,” suddenly burst out Mrs. Arnold with a vehemence that spoke of her having only waited a fitting time to explode her bottled-up indignation. “Portia is so odd about going out socially,” and she shrugged her shoulders expressively, if inelegantly, under the clumsy velvet.
“Oh, I’m sure Portia—Mrs. Differdale.” hastily corrected Owen, coming to the defense of the absent accused with a warmth that did my heart good, “wouldn’t dream of snubbing anybody, least of all her late husband’s people.”
“How kind are the thoughts of Ow-een!’” murmured the guest of honor, an expression of deep admiration on her oval face. “Always he wishes to think the best about everybody. Ah, we are not all so noble,” sighed she. For some reason, her green eyes still sought my face.
Illogical on my part, if you will, but I could have slapped the princess: her inference was by far too plain to be ignored by a friend of Portia’s. I jumped boldly into the fray.
“My niece is one of the kindest-hearted, noblest women I ever had the privilege of knowing, Mrs. Arnold. She would never dream of snubbing anybody. I’m sure you’ve misinterpreted her unwillingness to leave her work, to which she is absolutely devoted.”
