Jose's eyes were full of longing.
"Oh, that I might go, too," he cried. "The Black Pearl may dance, dance,
after the spirit that is in her; may express her art, but I, although I
grow mad to express mine, must stay mewed up in these mountains with
nothing to do but cook and play cards and talk to a half saint and a
stale, old sinner. If Nitschkan and the petite Thomas had not come, I
should have died. Look at those!" he twinkled his long, delicate fingers
in the air, "there is not such another pair of hands on a combination
lock in all this world."
Seagreave and Gallito laughed, but paid no further heed to him, and
Harry turned to Pearl with a pretense of disappointment.
"I thought I should see a butterfly," he said, "a butterfly that had
flown up from the land of eternal summer, and you're only a chrysalis."
"It's too cold for butterflies up here," she laughed. "Wait until I get
down to the warm hall." But although she returned his banter, she did
not look at him, her eyes were downcast, and on the drive down the hill
she scarcely spoke. Seagreave was one of those rare persons who respect
another's mood of silence, and consequently he did not notice this new
constraint which had overfallen her.
The hall, lighted with bull's-eye lanterns, was crowded with people,
every one of the chairs taken and every inch of standing room occupied.
There was no platform, but the space upon which Pearl was to dance was
screened off by red curtains.
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