ow of the self
of former days--a cultured, polished man of the world. Even Mr.
Thurwell's good breeding was scarcely sufficient to conceal his surprise
at the metamorphosis. Never before, at his table, had there been such a
brilliant flow of conversation--conversation which had all the rare art
of appearing general, whereas it was indeed nothing less than a
monologue on the part of this strange guest. He had traveled far, he had
seen great things in many countries, and he had known great men; and he
talked lightly about them all, with the keen appreciation of the artist,
and the graceful diction of the scholar. He was a man who had lived in
the world--every little action and turn of speech denoted it. The French
dishes--Mr. Thurwell was proud of his chef--were no secret to him, and
he knew all about the vintages of the wines he was drinking. In the
whole course of his experience, Mr. Thurwell had never entertained such
a guest as this, and it was a sore trial to his good manners to abstain
from any astonished comment on the lonely life his tenant had been
lately leading.

And Helen sat listening to it all with a sort of dreamy content stealing
over her, out of which she was stirred every now and then into
enthusiasm by some brilliant criticism or fresh turn to the
conversation. At such times her gray luminous eyes, with their strange
dash of foreign color, would light up and flash their sympathetic
approval across the few feet of tablecloth blazing with many-colored
flowers and fruits and glittering silver. And he grew to look for this,
and to receive it with an answering glance from his own dark eyes, full
of a strange light and power. She, watching him more keenly than her
father could, was conscious of something that altogether escaped him, a
sort of undercurrent of suppressed excitement which never rose to the
surface, and revealed itself in none of his mannerisms or his tone. But
it was there, and she felt it--felt it more than ever when their eyes
met, and hers were forced to droop before the steady fire in his, which
more than once brought the faint color into her cheeks, and sent a new
sensation quivering through her being.

Dinner came to an end at last, but when she rose to go her father
protested. She generally sat with him while he smoked a cigarette and
drank his coffee. Why should she go away now? They were making no
stranger of Mr. Brown. And so she stayed.

Presently she found herself strolling round