ial--something that Gwen could not
lean against, or put her arms round. Would she never again have the
opportunity of feeling how hard and smooth his shirt-front was? It was
like china, only not cold. As she thought Gwen's eyes became misty and
sad, and she ceased to notice what the two ladies opposite to her were
saying.

CHAPTER IX

THE LUNCHEON PARTY

Boreham was in his dressing-room at Chartcote looking at himself in the
mirror. The picture he saw in its depths was familiar to him. Had he
(like prehistoric man) never had the opportunity of seeing his own face,
and had he been suddenly presented with his portrait and asked whether
he thought the picture pleasing, he would have replied, as do our
Cabinet ministers: "The answer is in the negative."

But the figure in the mirror had always been associated with his inmost
thoughts. It had grown with his growth. It had smiled, it had laughed
and frowned. It had looked dull and disappointed, it had looked
flattered and happy in tune with his own feelings; and that rather
colourless face with the drab beard, the bristly eyebrows, the pale blue
eyes and the thin lips, were all part of Boreham's exclusive personal
world to which he was passionately attached; something separate from the
world he criticised, jeered at, scolded or praised, as the mood took
him, also something separate from what he secretly and unwillingly
envied. The portrait in the mirror represented Boreham's own particular
self--the unmistakable "I."

He gave a last touch with a brush to the stiff hair, and then stood
staring at his completed image, at himself, ready for lunch, ready--and
this was what dominated his thoughts--ready to receive May Dashwood.

Some eight or nine years ago, when he had first met May, he had as
nearly fallen in love with her as his constitution permitted; and he had
been nettled at finding himself in a financial position that was, to say
the best of it, rather fluctuating. He knew he was going to have
Chartcote, but aunts of sixty frequently live to remain aunts at eighty.
May had never shown any particular interest in him, but he attributed
her indifference to the natural and selfish female desire to acquire a
wealthy husband. As it was impossible for him to marry at that period in
his life, he adopted that theory of marriage most likely to shed a
cheerful light upon his compulsory bachelorhood. He maintained that the
natural man tries to escape marriage, as it is