thralled him. He had never seen such a complexion;
nobody had ever seen such a complexion. It combined extremely marvellous
whites and extremely marvellous pinks, and the skin had the exquisite,
incredible softness of a baby's. Next he was struck by her candid,
ingenuous, inquiring gaze, and by her thin voice with the slight
occasional lisp. The splendid magnificence of her frock and jewels came
into play later. Lastly her demeanour imposed itself. That simple gaze
showed not the slightest diffidence, scarcely even modesty; it was more
brazen than effrontery. She preceded the other three into the
restaurant, where electricity had finally conquered the expiring
daylight, and her entry obviously excited the whole room; yet, guided by
two waving and fawning waiters, and a hundred glances upon her, she
walked to the appointed table without a trace of self-consciousness--as
naturally as a policeman down a street. When she sat down, George on her
right, Lucas on her left, and the tall, virginal Laurencine Ingram
opposite, she was the principal person in the restaurant. George had
already passed from disappointment to an impressed nervousness. The
inquisitive diners might all have been quizzing him instead of Irene
Wheeler. He envied Lucas, who was talking freely to both Miss Wheeler
and Laurencine about what he had ordered for dinner. That morning over a
drawing-board and an architectural problem, Lucas had been humble enough
to George, and George by natural right had laid the law down to Lucas;
but now Lucas, who--George was obliged to admit--never said anything
brilliant or original, was outshining him.... It was unquestionable that
in getting Irene Wheeler to dinner, Lucas, by some mysterious talent
which he possessed, had performed a feat greater even than George had at
first imagined--a prodigious feat.

George waited for Irene Wheeler to begin to talk. She did not begin to
talk. She was content with the grand function of existing. Lucas showed
her the portrait in the illustrated paper, which he had kept. She said
that it was comparatively an old one, and had been taken at the Durbar
in January. "Were you at the Durbar?" asked the simpleton George. Irene
Wheeler looked at him. "Yes. I was in the Viceroy's house-party," she
answered mildly. And then she said to Lucas that she had sat three times
to photographers that week--"They won't leave me alone"--but that the
proofs were none of them satisfactory. At this Laurencine I