mocking, melting eyes of the Southern woman, and so said Camilla's eyes.
No man could rest calm under that glance; no man could forbear the
attempt to decipher the hidden secrecies of its message, and no man
could succeed in the task.

Hugo felt that he had never seen this woman before.

And he might have been excused for feeling so; for instead of the black
alpaca, Camilla now wore a simple but effectively charming toilette such
as 'Hugo's' created and sold to women for the rapture of men in summer
twilights, and over the white dress was thrown a very rich pearl-tinted
opera-cloak, which only partly concealed the curves of the shoulders,
and poised aslant on the glistening coiffure was the identical blue hat
with its wide brims that had visited the dome seventeen hours before.
The total effect was calculated, perfect, overwhelming.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hugo,' said Camilla, throwing back her
cloak on the left side with a fine gesture, 'but I am in need of your
assistance.'

'Yes?' Hugo whispered, seating himself.

She had a low voice, rare in a blonde, and it thrilled him. And she was
so near him in the great chamber!

'I want you to tell me what plot I am in the midst of. What is the web
that has begun to surround me?'

'Plot?' stammered Hugo. 'Web?'