r these domestic matters; do not see them. My Karen
must not pretend to me that she does not care and see. I am right, am I
not, Mr. Jardine? you would not wish to deprive Karen of the bride's
distinctive pleasure--the furnishing of her own nest."

Gregory's eyes met hers;--it seemed to be their second long
encounter;--eyes like jewels, these of Madame von Marwitz; full of
intense life, intense colour, still, bright and cold, tragically cold.
He seemed to see suddenly that all the face--the long eyebrows, with the
plaintive ripple of irregularity bending their line, the languid lips,
the mournful eyelids, the soft contours of cheek and throat,--were a
veil for the coldness of her eyes. To look into them was like coming
suddenly through dusky woods to a lonely mountain tarn, lying fathomless
and icy beneath a moonlit sky. Gregory was aware, as if newly and more
strongly than before, of how ambiguous was her beauty, how sinister her
coldness.

Above the depths where these impressions were received was his
consciousness that he must be careful if Karen were not to guess how
much he was disliking her guardian. It was not difficult for him to
smile at a person he disliked, but it was difficult not to smile
sardonically. This was an apparently trivial occasion on which to feel
that it was a contest that she had inaugurated between them; but he did
feel it. "Karen knows that she can burn everything in the room as far as
I'm concerned," he said. "Even your Bouddha," he added, smiling a little
more nonchalantly, "I'd gladly sacrifice if it gave her pleasure."

Nothing was lost upon Madame von Marwitz, of that he was convinced. She
saw, perhaps, further than he did; for he did not see, nor wish to,
beyond the moment of guarded hostility. And it was with the utmost
gentleness and precaution, with, indeed, the air of one who draws softly
aside from a sleeping viper found upon the path, that she answered: "I
trust, indeed, that it may never be my Karen's pleasure, or yours, Mr.
Jardine, to destroy what is precious; that would hurt me very much. And
now, child, may I not see the rest of this beloved domain?" She turned
from him to Karen.

Gregory rose; he had told Karen that he would leave them alone after
tea; he had letters to write and he would see Madame von Marwitz before
she went. He had the sense, as he closed the door, of flying before
temptation. What might he not say to Madame von Marwitz if he saw too
much of her?

W