You have
a most ardent admirer in me--please remember that.'
She spoke with little pauses in between. Her voice was so warm and
insinuating in tone that it almost had the effect of a caress, and her
glance had that unconsciously voluptuous and disturbing expression which
instantly kindles the desire of every man on whom it rests.
'Cavaliere Sakumi!' announced the servant, as the eighth and last guest
made his appearance.
He was one of the secretaries to the Japanese Legation, very small and
yellow, with prominent cheek-bones and long, slanting, bloodshot eyes
over which the lids blinked incessantly. His body was disproportionately
large for his spindle legs, and he turned his toes in as he walked. The
skirts of his coat were too wide, there was a multitude of wrinkles in
his trousers, his necktie bore visible evidence of an unpractised hand.
It was as if a _daimio_ had been taken out of one of those cuirasses of
iron and lacquer, so like the shell of some monstrous crustacean, and
thrust into the clothes of a European waiter. And yet, with all his
ungainliness and apparent stupidity there was a glint of malice in his
slits of eyes and a sort of ironical cunning about the corners of his
mouth.
Arrived in the middle of the room, he bowed low. His gibus slipped from
his hand and rolled over the floor.
At this, the Baroness d'Isola, a tiny blonde with a cloud of fluffy
curls all over her forehead, vivacious and grimacing as a young monkey,
called to him in her piping voice:
'Come over here, Sakumi--here, beside me.
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