His eyes followed her with rapt interest
as she approached the counter.
"You wish me to sign for my prescription?" she asked the chemist.
"I will do so, with pleasure, if it is necessary, only you must
not keep me waiting long."
Her voice was very low and very musical; the slight smile which
had parted her tired lips, was almost pathetic. Even the chemist
felt himself to be a human being. He turned at once to his
shelves and began to prepare the drug.
"I am sorry, madam, that it should have been necessary to fetch
you in," he said, apologetically. "My assistant will give you
the book if you will kindly sign it."
The assistant dived beneath the counter, reappearing almost
immediately with a black volume and a pen and ink. The chemist
was engrossed upon his task; Tavernake's eyes were still riveted
upon this woman, who seemed to him the most beautiful thing he
had ever seen in life. No one was watching the girl. The
chemist was the first to see her face, and that only in a looking
glass. He stopped in the act of mixing his drug and turned
slowly round. His expression was such that they all followed his
eyes. The girl was sitting up in her chair, with a sudden spot
of color burning in her cheeks, her fingers gripping the counter
as though for support, her eyes dilated, unnatural, burning in
their white setting with an unholy fire. The lady was the last
to turn her head, and the bottle of eau-de-cologne which she had
taken up from the counter, slipped with a crash to the floor.
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