hair. Mr. Reginald Farwell, who
was there, afterwards declared that she seemed to have stepped out of
the gentle landscape of an old painting. She stood, indeed, hesitating
for a moment in the doorway, her eyes softly alight, in the very pose of
expectancy that such a picture suggested.

Honora herself was almost frightened by a sense of augury, of triumph,
as she went forward to greet her hostess. Conversation, for the moment,
had stopped. Cecil Grainger, with the air of one who had pulled aside
the curtain and revealed this vision of beauty and innocence, crossed
the room to welcome her. And Mrs. Grainger herself was not a little
surprised; she was not a dramatic person, and it was not often that her
drawing-room was the scene of even a mild sensation. No entrance could
have been at once so startling and so unexceptionable as Honora's.

"I was sorry not to find you when I called," she said. "I was sorry,
too," replied Mrs. Grainger, regarding her with an interest that was
undisguised, and a little embarrassing. "I'm scarcely ever at home,
except when I'm with the children. Do you know these people?"

"I'm not sure," said Honora, "but--I must introduce my husband to you."

"How d'ye do!" said Mr. Grainger, blinking at her when this ceremony was
accomplished. "I'm awfully glad to see you, Mrs. Spence, upon my word."

Honora could not doubt it. But he had little time to express his joy,
because of the appearance of his wife at Honora's elbow with a tall man
she had summoned from a corner.

"Before we go to dinner I must introduce my cousin, Mr. Chiltern--he is
to have the pleasure of taking you out," she said.

His name was in the class of those vaguely familiar: vaguely familiar,
too, was his face. An extraordinary face, Honora thought, glancing at it
as she took his arm, although she was struck by something less tangible
than the unusual features. He might have belonged to any nationality
within the limits of the Caucasian race. His short, kinky, black hair
suggested great virility, an effect intensified by a strongly bridged
nose, sinewy hands, and bushy eyebrows. But the intangible distinction
was in the eyes that looked out from under these brows the glimpse she
had of them as he bowed to her gravely, might be likened to the
hasty reading of a chance page in a forbidden book. Her attention was
arrested, her curiosity aroused. She was on that evening, so to speak,
exposed for and sensitive to impressions. She