She was dressed with unusual
elegance; a robe of soft, black crape fell in graceful folds around her.
I never shall understand ladies' dresses, but this was made so that the
beautiful, white neck and arms were bare.
I remember, too, that she had great sprays of heliotrope in the bodice
of her dress and in her hair. She looked more lovely, more seductive,
than any words of mine could describe, if I wrote for six months.
On the table by her side was a tray set with delicate china and silver,
over which the firelight played cheerily. It was a picture of luxurious
home comfort. She looked up as I entered with a grave, sweet smile.
"Your coffee is ready, Sir Edgar."
There was my favorite chair drawn up to the table. As I sat down I said
aloud:
"This is comfortable."
Her smile brightened and deepened.
"You are like Miles, Sir Edgar. No matter where he went, he always said
coming home was the most pleasant part of the day."
Then, with her white, jeweled hand, she poured out my coffee, and
certainly the aromatic fragrance was very pleasant.
"You must be like Miles in something else," she said.
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