When he had got rid of his driver, he turned the car northward, and a
few minutes later Mathilde, the French maid chosen by Betty, opened
Jane's door to him.
While he took off his coat he looked along the hall and saw its owner
sitting, her chin propped on a latticework of fingers. She was gazing
out of the window. It was a beautiful, desperate silhouette; something
fateful in the long, still pose and the fixed look. She was still
dressed in street clothes as when she had left the theater, a blouse
and skirt of dark gray, very plain. Her figure, now that it was
trained to slight corseting, was less vigorous and more fine-drawn.
She was very thin, but she had lost her worn and haggard look; the
premature hard lines had almost disappeared; a softer climate, proper
care, rest, food, luxury had given back her young, clear skin and the
brightness of eyes and lips. Her hair, arranged very simply to frame
her face in a broken setting of black, was glossy, and here and there,
deeply waved. It was the arrangement chosen for her by Betty and
copied from a Du Maurier drawing of the Duchess of Towers. It was hard
to believe that this graceful woman was the virago Jane, harder for
any one that had seen a heavy, handsome girl stride into Mrs. Upper's
hotel and ask for work, to believe that she was here.
Morena clapped his hands in the Eastern fashion of summons, and Jane
looked toward him.
"Oh," she said, "I'm glad you came."
He strolled in and stood beside her shaking his head.
"I didn't like the look of you this afternoon, my dear."
"Well, sir," said Jane, "I don't like the look of you either." She
smiled her slow, unself-conscious smile. "You sit down and I'll make
tea for you."
He knew that thought for some one else was the best tonic for her
mood, so he dropped, with his usual limp grace, into the nearest
chair, put back his head and half-closed his eyes.
"I'm used up," he said; "I haven't a word--not one to throw at a dog."
"Please don't throw one at me, then. I surely wouldn't take it as a
compliment." She made the tea gravely, as absorbed in the work as a
little girl who makes tea for her dolls. She brought him his cup and
went back to her place and again her face settled into that look. She
had evidently forgotten him and her eyes held a vision as of
distances.