THE SIAMESE CAT
On the second morning, however, as he lay smoking in the main verandah, a Chinese boy brought news at which his heart leapt. A lady wished to see him: and wild hope told him it might be Laura.
On reaching the carriage archway, he found a strange face smiling at him from the gharri window. A pretty and alluring face,—even to his disappointed vision: Italian in the darkness of the cheeks, Parisian both in the quickness of the black eyes and in the pointed, piquant contour, it was lively and mischievous as a kitten's.
"Is zees Mr. Scarlett?" she asked, with a smile at once dangerous and engaging. As she leaned forward, the stranger showed trim, youthful shoulders, and one sleeve of her shapely white jacket, ringed with the black band of perfunctory mourning.
"My friend Mrs. Hol-bo-row," laughed the
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