n them. She had expected personality, magnetism, as
a compensation for nature's external economies. His apparent lack of
both made him almost repellent, awakened in Isabel a sensation of
antagonism; and the cool speculation in his light gray eyes merely
accentuated his general dearth of charm. True he had height--although
his carriage was unimposing--his head was large and well-proportioned,
his nose and chin salient, but the straight heavy mouth was as
contemptuous as a Prussian officer's, and in spite of his grooming he
looked old-fashioned, absurdly like the Uncle Hiram who had been a
country lawyer and farmer, and had always worn broadcloth in the hottest
weather--except, to be sure, when he wore a linen "duster," or sat on
the veranda in his shirt-sleeves, his feet on the railing.

However, she smiled, and he smiled politely in return, advancing a few
steps to meet her. "I hope you have heard of me," she said. "Your mother
is so busy--English people are so indifferent to details--I am your
cousin, Isabel Otis--"

"Of course my mother has spoken of you. I am very glad to see you in my
house," he added, hospitably. "Shall I show you the way?"

He made no further remark as they descended the darker section of the
stair, and she could think of nothing to say to him. Nor did she
particularly care to think of anything, the American in her resenting
his lack of effort. But as they reached the door she paused abruptly.

"I forgot! Miss Thangue asked me to knock at her door--"

"You take us too seriously," he said, with a slight sneer. "Flora has
evidently forgotten you; she came down a quarter of an hour ago."

Isabel lifted her head still higher, annoyed at the angry blood that
leaped to her face. "I am afraid I am rather literal," she said, with
more hauteur than the occasion demanded. "But perhaps you will tell me
where to go. There seems to be a bewildering number of rooms. After
three years of lodgings in Europe, to say nothing of the modest
architecture of Rosewater, I feel as if astray in a maze."

"You got that off as if you were a masquerading princess," he said, with
a flicker of humor in his eyes. "Americans generally bluff the other
way." He opened the door. "We meet here in the hall. There is my mother.
You are not obliged to speak to her, you know. We are less formal in
life than in novels." With this parting shot he left her abruptly and
joined a small dark woman with a plebeian face, a sensual mouth,