rs of Knowles's mouth twitched nervously and he began
to stroke his upper lip--a provoking habit of his, seeing that he had no
moustache to account for it. Evidently there was some secret
understanding between the two, and Wyndham was gravely and maliciously
amused.

Katherine was enjoying herself too, but without malice. She had so few
acquaintances and lived so much in the studio, that it was all fresh
life to her. She was pleased with that unconscious irony of Audrey's
which had thrown Knowles and Miss Armstrong together; pleased with the
by-play between Knowles and Wyndham, and with the behaviour of the
married couple. It was always a delight to her to watch strange faces.
Mrs. Dixon Barnett was a big woman, with a long head, and she looked
something like a horse with its ears laid back, her hair being arranged
to carry out that idea. The great Asiatic explorer, whose round face
wore an expression of permanent surprise, suggested a man who has met
with some sudden shock from which he has never recovered. Katherine felt
sorry for the Asiatic explorer. She felt sorry for Miss Gladys Armstrong
too, a little pale woman with a large gaze that seemed to take you in
without looking at you. Her face, still young and childlike, was scored
with the marks of hard work and eager ambition, and there was bitterness
in the downward droop of her delicate mouth. Yet the authoress of "Sour
Grapes" was undeniably a successful woman. And Wyndham too, the
successful man--Wyndham's face attracted Katherine in spite of herself,
it was full of such curious inconsistencies. Altogether it was refined,
impressive, almost noble; yet each of the features contradicted itself,
the others, and the whole. The general outline was finely cut, but it
looked a little worn at the edges. The shaven lips were sensitive, but
they had hard curves at the corners; they were firm, without expressing
self-restraint. In the same way the nose was fine at the bridge, and
coarse towards the nostrils. The iris of the eyes was beautiful, with
its clear brown streaks on an orb of greenish grey; yet his eyes were
the most disagreeable feature in Wyndham's face. As for Knowles, he
interested her with his genial cynicism; but it was a relief to turn
from these restless types to Mr. Flaxman Reed. He had the face of the
ideal ascetic--sweet in its austerity, militant in its renunciation.
What in heaven's name was he doing at Audrey Craven's dinner-table?

Katherine was no