that had not been wholly
satisfied. As she wondered a slight retraction of his chin and a
drooping of his heavy eyelids warned her, by their likeness to the
controlled but embarrassed movements of a highly-bred animal approached
by a stranger, that he knew she was watching him, and she took her gaze
away. But she had to look again, just to confirm her feeling that
however fanciful she might be about him his appearance would always give
some further food for her imagination; and presently, for though she was
the least vain person in the world she was the most egotistical, began
to compare the large correctness of his features with the less academic
spontaneity of her own. "Lord! Why has everybody but me got a straight
nose!" she exclaimed to herself. "But it's all blethers to think that an
indented chin means character. How can a dunt in your bone have anything
to do with your mind?" She rubbed her own chin, which was a little white
ball, and pushed it forward, glowering at his great jaw. Then her
examination ended. She noticed that all over his upper lip and chin
there was a faint bluish bloom, as if he had shaved closely and
recently but the strong hair was already pressing through again. That
disgusted her, although she reminded herself that he could not help it,
that that was the way he was made. "There's something awful like an
animal about a man," she thought, and shivered.

"Och, aye!" said Mr. Philip, which was a sure sign that he was upset,
for in business he reckoned to say "Yes, yes." The two men began by
exchange of politenesses about Mr. Frank Gibson, to whom they referred
in the impersonal way of business conversations as though he were some
well-known brand of integrity, and then proceeded to divest the property
in Rio de Janeiro of all interest in a like manner. It was a house, it
appeared, and was at present let to an American named Capel on a five
years' lease, which had nearly expired. There was no likelihood of Capel
requiring any extension of this lease, for he was going back to the
States. So now Yaverland wanted to sell it. There ought to be no trouble
in finding a buyer, for it was a famous house. "Everybody in Rio knows
the Villa Miraflores," he said. She gasped at the name and wrote it in
longhand; to compress such deliciousness into shorthand would have been
sacrilege. After that she listened more eagerly to his voice, which she
perceived was charged with suppressed magic as it might have been