could not guess. She knew only that she did not like the Countess as she
had wished to like her lover's friend. There was something secret in the
dark eyes, something repellent about the long, slender thumb with its
glittering nail.




CHAPTER VIII

THE BLUE DIAMOND RING


Annesley had not expected to sleep. There were a million things to
think of, and it was one o'clock before she was ready to slip into bed
in the green-and-white room with its bathroom annex. But the crowding
experiences of five hours had exhausted the girl. Sleep fell upon her as
her head nestled into a downy pillow, and she lay motionless as a marble
figure on a tomb until a sound of knocking forced itself into her dreams.

She waked with a start. The curtains were drawn across the window, but
she could see that it was daylight. A streak of sunshine thrust a golden
wedge between the draperies, and seemed a good omen: for the sun had
hidden from London through many wintry weeks.

The knocking was real, not part of a dream. It was at her door, and
jumping out of bed she could hardly believe a clock on the mantelpiece
which said half-past ten.

"Who is it?" she asked, timidly, fearing that the Countess de Santiago's