hey reached the
bookseller's and went in, they saw that the two men were there before
them, looking over the foreign papers, which were neatly arranged on a
little table apart. Dalrymple looked up and recognized Francesca, to
whom he had been introduced at a small concert given for a charity in a
private house, on which occasion Gloria had sung. He lifted his hat from
his head and laid it down upon the newspapers, when Francesca rather
unexpectedly held out her hand to him in English fashion. He had left a
card at her house on the day after their meeting, but as she was alone
in the world, she had no means of returning the civility.

"It would give me great pleasure if you would bring your daughter to see
me," she said graciously.

"You are very kind," answered Dalrymple, his steely blue eyes
scrutinizing her pure young features.

She only glanced at him, for she was suddenly conscious that his
companion was looking at her. He, too, had laid down his hat, and she
instantly understood what Reanda had meant by comparing his face to a
mask. The features were certainly very far from handsome. If they were
redeemed at all, it was by the very deep-set eyes, which gazed into
hers in a strangely steady way, as though the lids never could droop
from under the heavy overhanging brow, and then, still unwinking, turned
in another direction. The man's complexion was of that perfectly even
but almost sallow colour which often belongs to very strong melancholic
temperaments. His face was clean-shaven and unnaturally square and
expressionless, excepting for such life as there was in the deep eyes.
Dark, straight, closely cut hair grew thick and smooth as a priest's
skull-cap, low on the forehead and far forward at the temples. The level
mouth, firmly closed, divided the lower part of the face like the scar
of a straight sabre-cut. The nose was very thick between the eyes,
relatively long, with unusually broad nostrils which ran upward from the
point to the lean cheeks. The man wore very dark clothes of extreme
simplicity, and at a time when pins and chains were much in fashion, he
had not anything visible about him of gold or silver. He wore his watch
on a short, doubled piece of black silk braid slipped through his
buttonhole. He dressed almost as though he were in mourning.

Francesca unconsciously looked at him so intently for a moment that
Dalrymple thought it natural to introduce him, fancying that she might
have heard of him