Page:Weird Tales Volume 5 Number 5 (1925-05).djvu/84

Then her tone changed from indifference to a tense alarm that startled me so much that I leaned back against the open gate, panting at the suddenness of her attack.

“Who gave you this—this thing?” demanded my niece sharply, and plucked at Owen’s buttonhole as if she were conquering an innate reluctance to touch something horribly loathsome. “Oh, it is not necessary to answer. I know!"

With a quick, nervous jerk she pulled the strange and monstrous bloom from Owen’s buttonhole and let it fall upon the ground. Then she put out one foot and crushed it into a pulpy, nasty mass that sent its sharp, acrid, disagreeable odor puffing up into the air about us. At once she seemed to recover herself.

“That—flower—princess, is dangerous. I wonder if you know how dangerous?"

Rapierlike glances shot between the two women. “Owen, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Portia continued, “but that—flower—is a very poisonous-orchid. I’m sure the princess wasn’t aware of its bad qualities,” and another sharp interchange of glances took place. “I’m sorry, princess, if I spoiled a favorite—flower—of yours. I presume it came from your hothouses?” She directed her remarks to the silent occupant of the limousine. “Of course, you have—others?"

I felt, as I had been feeling when Portia made certain remarks, insignificant in themselves, that they had a deep inner meaning running through and under them. I was convinced that, whatever it was that my niece meant to convey, the Princess Tchernova caught her idea clearly. There was a moment’s silence, then the Russian leaned toward the open door of the limousine and spoke slowly, each word dropping like venomous slobbering driblets from a mad beast’s jaws, so concentrated was the bad feeling that I knew lay behind each syllable.

"Ma chère Mrs. Differdale, I have many—others. Do not fear that I resent or misunderstand your—your uncalculated action. You shall see some day—the many—others.” She turned to Owen. “Poisonous? Tchah!" contemptuously.

Then she smiled, such a smile as chilled my very heart, there was such tense purpose in her tight-locked teeth, her narrowed green eyes, as she fixed her gaze upon Portia.

"Are you going on, Owen? Or will you stop in for a moment?"

I was astounded at Portia’s invitation, after all our hashing and rehashing of the delicate situation, but laid it to her ill-concealed jealousy of the other woman, who continued to smile without speaking. I could see that Owen wanted to come in, but felt Portia’s invitation a trifle tactless under the circumstances.

“Any other time,” he began hastily, when he was interrupted by the princess, whose evil smile had never once left her red lips.

“Any other time, chère Mrs. Differdale. But Ow-een is promis’ to me for now. Are you not, my Ow-een?”

Her assumption of proprietorship was certainly enough to have made any woman furious. Portia whitened and winced.

“Some other time, then, Mr. Edwardes,” said she, pointedly, and withdrew inside the bronze doors, motioning me to follow so that she could close them.

Owen was dreadfully disturbed, it was plain to see, but there was nothing for it but for him to bid us good evening and withdraw. Before she closed the door, I caught the glances that were once more exchanged between Portia and the serenely triumphant princess. I could see that Portia was maintaining her poise, meeting the beryl-green eyes of the Russian with an unyielding steadiness of