As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the
house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of all
smells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on his
arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had
not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out
a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was
already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big
armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he
must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits
and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends
from his pocket-book.
But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his
attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose
glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with
pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion
lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly
changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of
feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought
her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!
She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a
young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled
success.
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