When a master painter, crowned with international renown, had unsuccessfully attempted a portrait of Devota Lindsay, he turned the canvas head down with face to the wall, and vented his irrepressible chagrin.
"Miss Lindsay will pardon me for declining to waste any longer her patience, and my time in finishing a picture that can be merely a pretty mask. Despite its classic lines and exquisite coloring the locked face you show me, no more reflects your individual mentality and emotional potentialities than some flawless alabaster mask. If you will permit a frank analysis, I should say your habitual expression is that of complete, well-trained repose, impervious to shocks; and even your eyes—if windows of your soul—are deftly curtained with a radiant mist defying scrutiny. If you will excuse the argot of your own countrymen, should the day ever arrive when you 'let yourself go,' may I be there to paint the real woman! I shall destroy this baffling work, retaining only the hand and arm, which you must grant me as some solace for defeat. The day is not distant when you will recognize your wrist and fingers in my 'Egeria' signalling Numa."
Mature womanhood very rarely preserves the fresh and dainty tints peculiar to girlish youth, and to-night as Miss Lindsay walked slowly down the stairs, one might well have doubted the number of years that had rolled so tenderly, leaving no credentials to line their passage.
Her dinner dress of heliotrope chiffon was cut square at the neck, garnished with filmy Mechlin, and around her throat she wore a broad collar composed of three rows of large fire opals, set in delicate Venetian network of gold wire, from the center of which hung a Maltese cross of diamonds. In her silk girdle was fastened a bunch of long-stemmed double white violets. The slender handle of her circular fan was studded with opals, and the disk glowed with its iridescent border of peacock feathers.
Avoiding the main door of the long parlor whence came the hum and chatter of many voices, she paused in an adjoining music-room, where a lace-curtained arch-way permitted a view of the assembled guests. Above the arch an electric light glared over her face and figure, enhancing the golden shimmer of her hair, and the starry brilliance of the long-lashed velvety hazel eyes. Cautiously lifting the outside edge of the drapery, she looked at the various groups, and her gaze fastened on one where the hostess, the Bishop's wife, and Mrs. Van Allen—a gay young widow—clustered around the tall, athletic form of Governor Royal Armitage.
At forty-three years of age he looked older; his massive, finely modelled head and very regular features justified the generally conceded epithet "handsome"; yet in repose his face was cold, and the sombre, dark grey eyes rarely changed their brooding, en garde expression, even when the well-cut lips parted in a smile that disclosed a superb set of teeth.
Devota studied the countenance for a moment, and crushed back a half-uttered moan, while a tremor shook her; then lifted the lace curtain and entered the drawing-room.
"Ah, Miss Lindsay, how welcome you are after we had abandoned all hope of this pleasure! Following my example, our entire household wept over your failure to come sooner. My wife tells me you know everybody here except the Governor, and since you are strangers, I am glad it is my privilege to make you both my debtor by an introduction."
Mr. Churchill drew her hand to his arm, and she bowed to right and left to guests, as the host led her forward. The Governor was bending over an engraving in Mrs. Roscoe's hand, but suddenly drew himself erect and threw his head back proudly.
"Gov' Armitage, I am exceedingly glad to present you to Miss Lindsay, our family mascot."
Both bowed impressively, and a deep, well-trained, manly voice answered:
"I assure you it is a pleasant surprise to find myself numbered among those so fortunate as to claim Miss Lindsay's acquaintance."
The cold grey eyes looked steadily at Devota, but his face evinced no more pleasure than the granite gargoyle on the roof.
"It is my privilege to remember that a great many years ago, when quite young, I met your Excellency, but certainly I have no right to expect that after the long lapse of time any recognition could occur."
"You are very gracious to recall a casual incident of 'auld lang syne' that I dared not flatter myself you cared to remember; but that you have not entirely forgotten it is as unexpected as it is complimentary."
The eyes of each probed deep, but neither flinched, and as Mrs. Churchill arched her brows and pinched her husband's arm, Devota smiled, and turning away held out her hand to Bishop Roscoe.
"My dear Miss Lindsay, I am glad to have an opportunity to wish you Godspeed on the long tour you contemplate. When do you sail?"
"At dawn, day after to-morrow."
Mrs. Churchill's fan tapped the Bishop's wrist.