h, consulting with a waiter, and speaking to his old companion,
whose coal-black wig made a rather strange contrast with her lined white
cheeks and curiously indefinite eyes. But presently, with a sort of
strong deliberation, his gaze was turned on Lady Sellingworth, and she
knew at once that he had seen her when he came in. She met his gaze
for an instant, and this time seemed to be definitely aware of some
mysterious thread of sympathy between her and him. Sir Seymour spoke to
her in his quiet, rather deep voice, and she turned towards him, and as
she did so she felt she knew, as she had never known before, that she
could never marry him, that something in her that was of her essence was
irrevocably dedicated to youth and the beauty of youth, which is like
no other beauty. The wildness of her which did not die, which probably
would never die, was capable of trampling over Sir Seymour's fidelity to
get to unstable, selfish and careless youth, was capable of casting away
his fidelity for the infidelity of youth. As she met her host's grave
eyes, she sentenced him in her heart to eternal watching at her gate.
She could not, she never would be able to, let him into the secret room
where she was really at home.

During lunch she now and then glanced towards the old woman and the
stranger. They evidently knew no one, for no one took any notice of
them, and they did not seem to be on the look out for acquaintances.
Many people passed by them, entering and leaving the restaurant, but
there were no glances of recognition, no greetings. Only some of the
women looked at the young man as if struck, or almost startled, by
his good looks. Certainly he was amazingly handsome. His brown skin
suggested the sun; his figure athletic exercises; the expression of his
face audacity and complete self-possession. Yet there was in his large
eyes a look of almost appealing gentleness, as if he were seeking
something, some sympathy, some affection, perhaps, which he needed and
had never yet found. Several times when she glanced towards him with
careful casualness, Lady Sellingworth found his eyes fixed upon her with
this no doubt unconsciously appealing expression in them. She knew that
this man recognized her as the woman he had met in Bond Street. She felt
positive that for some reason he was intent upon her, that he was deeply
interested in her. For what reason? Her woman's vanity, leaping eagerly
up like a flame that had been damped down for