She looked back at him above the roses with eyes that were deeply
purple--as the depths of the sea. "Yes, I am Rosemary--to my friends,"
she said.
Ellis Grant was laughing still, in his massive, contented way. "But to
her lover," he said, "she is--and always has been--Rosa Mundi."
Then speech came back to Courteney, and strength returned. He held
himself in firm restraint. He had been stricken, but he did not flinch.
"Your husband?" he said.
She indicated Grant with a careless hand. "Since yesterday," she said.
He bowed to her again, severely formal. "May I wish you joy?" he said.
There was an instant's pause, and in that instant something happened.
She had not moved. Her eyes still met his own, but it was as if a veil
had dropped between them suddenly. He saw the purple depths no more.
"Thank you," said Rosa Mundi, with her little girlish laugh.
* * * * *
As he strode down the Pier a few minutes later, he likened the scent
of the crushed roses that strewed the way to the fumes of
sacrifice--sacrifice offered at the feet of a goddess who cared for
nothing sacred. Not till long after did he remember the tears that he
had seen her shed.