White Corinthian columns and pilasters separated the spaces, each gilded to match the frieze of rose wreaths and garlands of flowers above them. A quiet green served as the background for exquisite paintings celebrating love and marriage. The frieze at the chimneypiece copied an ancient Roman painting, the Aldobrandini Wedding, while a circular grisaille panel depicted a Greek wedding once found on the Acropolis. The ache in his head having dulled, Cheyne paced across the floorboards while he waited for the butler to tell Mattie he was here. He sank onto an eighteenth-century chair upholstered in green silk a shade lighter than the walls, then rose and paced to a window. He stared out at nothing in particular and wondered how he’d survived the past twenty-four-hours. Oh, not the abduction. How had he survived Mattie’s rash conduct, her irresponsible disregard of her own safety? “God, where did she get that revolver?” he asked himself, not for the first time. She couldn’t go on behaving so madly; his sanity depended upon making her see that she couldn’t take such risks.
