lifford
Marsh presented himself. Within the doorway he stood for a moment
surveying the room; with placid eye he selected Mrs. Denyer, and
approached her just to shake hands; her three daughters received from
him the same attention. Words Mr. Marsh had none, but he smiled as
smiles the man conscious of attracting merited observation. Indeed, it
was impossible not to regard Mr. Marsh with curiosity. His attire was
very conventional in itself, but somehow did not look like the evening
uniform of common men: it sat upon him with an artistic freedom, and
seemed the garb of a man superior to his surroundings. The artist was
slight, pale, rather feminine of feature; he had delicate hands, which
he managed to display to advantage; his auburn hair was not long
behind, as might have been expected, but rolled in a magnificent mass
upon his brows. Many were the affectations whereby his countenance
rendered itself unceasingly interesting. At times he wrinkled his
forehead down the middle, and then smiled at vacancy--a humorous
sadness; or his eyes became very wide as he regarded, yet appeared not
to see, some particular person; or his lips drew themselves in, a
symbol of meaning reticence. All this, moreover, not in such degrees as
to make him patently ridiculous; by no means. Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw
might exchange frequent glances, and have a difficulty in preserving
decorum; but they were unsophisticated. Mrs. Lessingham smiled, indeed,
when there came a reasonable pretext, but not contemptuously. Mr.
Marsh's aspect, if anything, pleased her; she liked these avoidances of
the commonplace. Cecily did not fail to inspect the new arrival. She
too was well aware that hatred of vulgarity constrains many persons who
are anything but fools to emphasize their being in odd ways, and it
might still--in spite of the impressionist water-colours--be proved
that Mr. Marsh had a right to vary from the kindly race of men. She
hoped he was really a person of some account; it delighted her to be
with such. And then she suspected that Madeline Denyer had something
more than friendship for Mr. Marsh, and her sympathies were moved.

"What sort of weather did you leave in England?" Mrs. Denyer inquired,
when the artist was seated next to her.

"I came away from London on the third day of absolute darkness,"
replied Mr. Marsh, genially.

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Gluck; and at once translated this news for
the benefit of Frau Wohlgemuth, who murmured,