est geniality soon won for
him the favor of all the heterogeneous company to whom he was not
already known. His wife noticed that his eyes rested frequently upon
their host and later she said to him:

"Felix is looking handsomer than ever tonight, isn't he!"

"Yes, I suppose so," he answered hesitatingly. "But, Margaret,
there's an expression growing on his face that I don't like. It's
creating a doubt about him in my mind."

"What do you mean? His manner tonight toward all this queer mixture
of people has been perfect--cordial, unassuming, delicately courteous
and friendly toward every one. And, really, Philip, I don't know a
handsomer man! His face is so refined, and those brown, caressing eyes
of his are enough to turn any girl's head. I don't wonder in the least
that Mildred is so completely in love with him. What is it you don't
like about his looks, Philip?"

"I don't quite know, and perhaps it isn't fair to him to put it into
words until I do know. It is less evident tonight, when he is all
animation and his thoughts are full of the entertainment of his
guests, than I have seen it sometimes lately. You know, Margaret,
Felix has an unusually expressive countenance. It's like a crystal
mask, and it's bound to reveal the very shape and color of his soul. I
think I begin to see signs in it of selfishness and grossness--"

"Oh, Philip! How can you! Grossness! He's the most refined----"

"You haven't announced Mildred's engagement yet, have you?" her
husband interrupted. "I'm glad of that," he went on in a relieved tone
as she shook her head, "and I hope you will not for some time."

"Mildred is beginning to look forward rather eagerly to being
married," said Mrs. Annister, smiling soberly. "I'm almost afraid
she's more in love than he is."

"I'm so glad I came tonight. It has been lovely!" Henrietta Marne at
that moment was saying to her host, at the other side of the room.

"You have enjoyed it?" and he bent upon her his brown eyes with their
look of caressing indulgence. "I'm glad of that, for I'm afraid you
don't have as many enjoyments as a girl ought to have, by right of her
youth and beauty and charm."

"I was afraid I ought not to come, because my mother is ill."

"Ah, that Puritan conscience of yours, Miss Marne! Don't be so afraid
of it when the question is nothing more than getting some innocent
pleasure out of life."

"But one isn't afraid of one's conscience. One just takes counsel of
it, or