lves
which makes the evening star shine at us with a threat, and the
blessing of a beggar encourage us. And superstitions carry consequences
which often verify their hope or their foreboding.

The time before luncheon was taken up for Gwendolen by going over the
rooms with Mrs. Torrington and Mrs. Davilow; and she thought it likely
that if she saw Deronda, there would hardly be need for more than a bow
between them. She meant to notice him as little as possible.

And after all she found herself under an inward compulsion too strong
for her pride. From the first moment of their being in the room
together, she seemed to herself to be doing nothing but notice him;
everything else was automatic performance of an habitual part.

When he took his place at lunch, Grandcourt had said, "Deronda, Miss
Harleth tells me you were not introduced to her at Leubronn?"

"Miss Harleth hardly remembers me, I imagine," said Deronda, looking at
her quite simply, as they bowed. "She was intensely occupied when I saw
her."

Now, did he suppose that she had not suspected him of being the person
who redeemed her necklace?

"On the contrary. I remember you very well," said Gwendolen, feeling
rather nervous, but governing herself and looking at him in return with
new examination. "You did not approve of my playing at roulette."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" said Deronda, gravely.

"Oh, you cast an evil eye on my play," said Gwendolen, with a turn of
her head and a smile. "I began to lose as soon as you came to look on.
I had always been winning till then."

"Roulette in such a kennel as Leubronn is a horrid bore," said
Grandcourt.

"_I_ found it a bore when I began to lose," said Gwendolen. Her face
was turned toward Grandcourt as she smiled and spoke, but she gave a
sidelong glance at Deronda, and saw his eyes fixed on her with a look
so gravely penetrating that it had a keener edge for her than his
ironical smile at her losses--a keener edge than Klesmer's judgment.
She wheeled her neck round as if she wanted to listen to what was being
said by the rest, while she was only thinking of Deronda. His face had
that disturbing kind of form and expression which threatens to affect
opinion--as if one's standard was somehow wrong. (Who has not seen men
with faces of this corrective power till they frustrated it by speech
or action?) His voice, heard now for the first time, was to
Grandcourt's toneless drawl, which had been in her