alena sighed and turned to the door. "Feet don't talk," she thought.
"What am I to say to Mr. Trennahan?"

She walked slowly down the stair. He was before her, standing on the
verandah directly in front of the doors. His back was to her. She saw
that he was very tall and thin, not unlike her uncle in build, but with
a distinction that gentleman did not possess. Her father was strutting
up and down the drive, taking his ante-dinner constitutional.

She went along the hall as slowly as she could, her hands clenched, her
mind in travail for a few words of appropriate greeting. When she had
nearly reached the door, Trennahan turned suddenly and saw her. He came
forward at once, his hand extended.

"This is Miss Yorba, of course," he said. "How good of you to come down
so soon!"

He had a large warm hand. It closed firmly over Magdalena's, and gave
her confidence. She could hardly see his face in the gloom of the hall,
but she felt his cordial grace, his magnetism.

"I am glad you have come down to my birthday dinner," she said, thankful
to be able to say anything.

"I am highly honoured, I am sure. Shall we go outside? I hope you prefer
it out there. I never stay in the house if I can help it."

"Oh, I much prefer to be out."

They sat facing each other in two of the wicker chairs. He was a man
skilled in woman, and he divined her shyness and apprehension. He talked
lightly for some time, making her feel that politeness compelled her to
be silent and listen. She raised her eyes after a time and looked at
him. He was, perhaps, thirty-five, possibly more. He looked older and at
the same time younger. His shaven chin and lips were sternly cut. His
face was thin, his nose arched and fine, his skin and hair neutral in
tint. The only colouring about him was in his eyes. They were very blue
and deeply set under rather scraggy brows. Magdalena noted that they had
a peculiarly penetrating regard, and that they did not smile with the
lips. The latter, when not smiling, looked grim and forbidding, and
there was a deep line on either side of the mouth. Her memory turned to
Colonel Belmont, and the night she had studied his profile. There was an
indefinable resemblance between the two men. Then she realised how
old-fashioned and worn Belmont was beside this trim elegant man, who,
with no exaggeration of manner, treated her with a deference and
attention which had no doubt been his habitual manner with the greatest
ladies in Eur