CHAPTER III.
SHE WHO INFLAMES WITH LOVE.
Cassandra Clovis arose late the next morning, and, after a refreshing bath, made an elaborate toilet and went out for a drive. She stopped on her return and brought home the one woman for whom she cared, Kitty Mays by name, a person who deserves a brief mention in these pages.
In appearance Kitty Mays was exactly the opposite of the actress. She was exceedingly small, with a face so surrounded by flying, fluffy blond hair as to be almost invisible, while a fluttering, restless movement of head and shoulders, arms and body, made the occasion rare when one could tell whether she was pretty or not. And yet she was pretty. Sometimes, suddenly checking her movements, she would raise her face, and, throwing back her head, open her beautiful mouth and give vent to laughter long and rippling as a child’s, while the color came into her cheeks and her eyes grew bright and large with mirth. Thus it was that on and off the stage people went to hear “Kitty’s laugh,” carrying home the remembrance of its bell-echo ripple. Was she daft? Some thought so. Who had ever known her to say or do anything bright? Was it that Clovis kept her seated on her train to echo her smiles? Was that laugh artificial? You must wait and see. I shall help you all I can.
When they had sent away the carriage and laid their hats aside, they ordered a lunch, with wine. Kitty sat curled up on a sofa, but with characteristic restlessness was tossing pieces of bread in the air and trying to catch them in her mouth, her shaggy head bobbing to and fro like a yellow poodle’s.
“Stop!” said Clovis; “you make me nervous.”
“Just one more time!” cried Kitty. “I’m sure to catch the next.”
Again and again the white flakes flew up and down; at last, one fell in the rosy mouth and the white teeth closed.
“Ha! ha! ha!” and the silver bells rang.
“Bravo!” cried a voice at the door. “May I come in? I couldn’t make any one hear, so I strolled this way. Say, now, did you leave the door open on purpose?”
“Go away,” said Kitty. “We don’t want you. We are having a private rehearsal.”
“So I perceive; but I want to be admitted. Do, Miss Clovis, ask me to have a glass of wine. I have so many things to tell you.”
“Of course, of course,” she replied, as she rose and rang the bell for another glass, and so Reginald Gray came in.
“Catch!” said Kitty, throwing him a piece of bread. He caught it in his hand.
“Not that way—like a dog!” and she held up another piece.
“Be quiet,” said Clovis, “and go away, Kitty! You may come back directly.”
The girl sprang from the sofa, and, without a word, went into the next room, closing the door after her.
“Well!” said Cassandra, “what did he think of it?”
“He—was—shocked!” and her companion leaned back, putting the tips of his fingers together.
“Tut! What did he say? Tell me—I really want to know!” and she tapped her foot on the carpet.
“A great many things; among them that—that he was surprised and—and bewildered—by—er—er—the brilliancy of the horse-shoe. By the by, would you like a mate for it?” and he caught her by the wrist as she held up her hand, lapping some wine from its rosy hollow.
“Be careful, or you’ll spill it! There!” and she threw it in his face, laughing, though her eyes flashed.
He put his handkerchief up, removed it and looked a trifle angry; then he walked over to where she stood, and, catching her by both hands, imprisoned them behind her and kissed her on the mouth.
“That’s all you’ll ever get,” she hissed through her teeth.
“That’s all I want!” and he released her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Ask Emory, when you are ready for a pair of diamond horse-shoes,” and he took up his hat.
“You may tell him that when Cliquot wins I’ll be ready; and you may give him my love, and say anything else you choose quite safely, for I am sure his horse will never reach the goal.”
She didn’t look at all amiable as she walked to the window, where she caught hold of the tassel of the shade, running it up and down in a restless way, with her back to her companion.
“Good-bye!” and in a moment he was gone.
“Kitty, come here!”
She threw open the door, and the girl appeared, blowing bubbles.
“There! that’s Coutell!” and it broke. “That’s Gray!” and it broke. “That’s Emory!—and it breaks on your shoulder!” Again the laugh, rippling through the room with bell-like music.
“Pshaw! listen to me. That man kissed me!”
“Ah! Did he hug you too?” and Kitty shook her mane and shrugged her shoulders.
“No!”
“Then he must have been intoxicated!” and the little woman hummed a tune, as she clicked time with an empty glass that stood on the table.
Clovis took up a bottle of red wine and filled one of the glasses.
“Goodness! it looks like blood!” cried Kitty.
“Does it? Watch then!” and catching up her skirts the beautiful woman exposed her well-formed and graceful limb far above the knee clothed in a dainty cream-colored stocking. Lifting her foot to a stool, she bent over and slowly poured the garnet stream down her leg, whence it flowed in a long, irregular line to the floor.
It was a lovely picture, as she stood in her rich dress, staining the purity of her skin with so costly a bath. Thus thought Reginald Gray, who had paused for a moment in the passage beyond the door, and drew back, pale with emotion, as he gazed upon the scene before him.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Kitty, springing forward, and turning her back to the opening, “I never felt such a draught!”
Her skirts flew out beyond her, and the door closed with a bang.