, and felt a slight sensation of annoyance that
the entire house was following his example. The opera glasses
concealed her eyes, but they rested upon the bridge of an indubitably
straight nose. Her forehead was perhaps too high, but it was full, and
the thick hair was brushed back from a sharp point. Her eyebrows,
thank Heaven, were many shades darker than her hair. They were also
narrow and glossy. Decidedly they received attention. Possibly they
were plucked and darkened--life had made him skeptical of "points."
However, Clavering was no lover of unamended nature, holding nature,
except in rare moments of inspiration, a bungler of the first water.

In spite of its smooth white skin and rounded contours above an
undamaged throat, it was, subtly, not a young face. The mouth, rather
large, although fresh and red (possibly they had lip sticks in Europe
that approximated nature) had none of the girl's soft flexibility. It
was full in the center and the red of the underlip was more than a
visible line, but it was straight at the corners, ending in an almost
abrupt sternness. Once she smiled, but it was little more than an
amused flicker; the mouth did not relax. The shape of the face bore
out the promise of the head, but deflected from its oval at the chin,
which was almost square, and indented. The figure was very slight, but
as subtly mature as the face, possibly because she held it
uncompromisingly erect; apparently she had made no concession to the
democratic absence of "carriage," the indifferent almost apologetic
mien that had succeeded the limp curves of a few years ago.

She wore a dress of white jet made with the long lines of the present
fashion--in dress she was evidently a stickler. The neck was cut in a
low square, showing the rise of the bust. Her own lines were long, the
arms and hands very slender in the long white gloves. Probably she was
the only woman in the house who wore gloves. Life was freer since the
war. She wore a triple string of pearls.

He waited eagerly until she should drop her glasses. . . . He heard
two girls gasping and muttering behind him. . . . There was a titter
across the house.

She lowered the opera glasses and glanced over the rows of upturned
faces immediately before her, scrutinizing them casually, as if they
were fish in an aquarium. She had dropped her lids slightly before her
eyes came to rest on Clavering. He was leaning forward, his eyes hard
and foca