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his　visit　to　the　editorial　room。







〃They　looked　to　me　like　people　under　a　spell。〃







The　Editor　gazed　at　him　appreciatively；　thinking　that；　whether　the



effect　of　solitude　or　not；　this　was　a　proof　of　a　sensitive



perception　of　the　expression　of　faces。







〃You　omitted　to　tell　me　their　name；　but　I　can　make　a　guess。　　You



mean　Professor　Moorsom；　his　daughter　and　sister　…　don't　you？〃







Renouard　assented。　　Yes；　a　white…haired　lady。　　But　from　his



silence；　with　his　eyes　fixed；　yet　avoiding　his　friend；　it　was　easy



to　guess　that　it　was　not　in　the　white…haired　lady　that　he　was



interested。







〃Upon　my　word；〃　he　said；　recovering　his　usual　bearing。　　〃It　looks



to　me　as　if　I　had　been　asked　there　only　for　the　daughter　to　talk　to



me。〃







He　did　not　conceal　that　he　had　been　greatly　struck　by　her



appearance。　　Nobody　could　have　helped　being　impressed。　　She　was



different　from　everybody　else　in　that　house；　and　it　was　not　only



the　effect　of　her　London　clothes。　　He　did　not　take　her　down　to



dinner。　　Willie　did　that。　　It　was　afterwards；　on　the　terrace。　。　。　。







The　evening　was　delightfully　calm。　　He　was　sitting　apart　and　alone；



and　wishing　himself　somewhere　else　…　on　board　the　schooner　for



choice；　with　the　dinner…harness　off。　　He　hadn't　exchanged　forty



words　altogether　during　the　evening　with　the　other　guests。　　He　saw



her　suddenly　all　by　herself　coming　towards　him　along　the　dimly



lighted　terrace；　quite　from　a　distance。







She　was　tall　and　supple；　carrying　nobly　on　her　straight　body　a　head



of　a　character　which　to　him　appeared　peculiar；　something　…　well　…



pagan；　crowned　with　a　great　wealth　of　hair。　　He　had　been　about　to



rise；　but　her　decided　approach　caused　him　to　remain　on　the　seat。



He　had　not　looked　much　at　her　that　evening。　　He　had　not　that



freedom　of　gaze　acquired　by　the　habit　of　society　and　the　frequent



meetings　with　strangers。　　It　was　not　shyness；　but　the　reserve　of　a



man　not　used　to　the　world　and　to　the　practice　of　covert　staring；



with　careless　curiosity。　　All　he　had　captured　by　his　first；　keen；



instantly　lowered；　glance　was　the　impression　that　her　hair　was



magnificently　red　and　her　eyes　very　black。　　It　was　a　troubling



effect；　but　it　had　been　evanescent；　he　had　forgotten　it　almost　till



very　unexpectedly　he　saw　her　coming　down　the　terrace　slow　and



eager；　as　if　she　were　restraining　herself；　and　with　a　rhythmic



upward　undulation　of　her　whole　figure。　　The　light　from　an　open



window　fell　across　her　path；　and　suddenly　all　that　mass　of　arranged



hair　appeared　incandescent；　chiselled　and　fluid；　with　the　daring



suggestion　of　a　helmet　of　burnished　copper　and　the　flowing　lines　of



molten　metal。　　It　kindled　in　him　an　astonished　admiration。　　But　he



said　nothing　of　it　to　his　friend　the　Editor。　　Neither　did　he　tell



him　that　her　approach　woke　up　in　his　brain　the　image　of　love's



infinite　grace　and　the　sense　of　the　inexhaustible　joy　that　lives　in



beauty。　　No！　　What　he　imparted　to　the　Editor　were　no　emotions；　but



mere　facts　conveyed　in　a　deliberate　voice　and　in　uninspired　words。







〃That　young　lady　came　and　sat　down　by　me。　　She　said：　　'Are　you



French；　Mr。　Renouard？'〃







He　had　breathed　a　whiff　of　perfume　of　which　he　said　nothing　either



…　of　some　perfume　he　did　not　know。　　Her　voice　was　low　and　distinct。



Her　shoulders　and　her　bare　arms　gleamed　with　an　extraordinary



splendour；　and　when　she　advanced　her　head　into　the　light　he　saw　the



admirable　contour　of　the　face；　the　straight　fine　nose　with　delicate



nostrils；　the　exquisite　crimson　brushstroke　of　the　lips　on　this



oval　without　colour。　　The　expression　of　the　eyes　was　lost　in　a



shadowy　mysterious　play　of　jet　and　silver；　stirring　under　the　red



coppery　gold　of　the　hair　as　though　she　had　been　a　being　made　of



ivory　and　precious　metals　changed　into　living　tissue。







〃。　。　。　I　told　her　my　people　were　living　in　Canada；　but　that　I　was



brought　up　in　England　before　coming　out　here。　　I　can't　imagine　what



interest　she　could　have　in　my　history。〃







〃And　you　complain　of　her　interest？〃







The　accent　of　the　all…knowing　journalist　seemed　to　jar　on　the



Planter　of　Malata。







〃No！〃　he　said；　in　a　deadened　voice　that　was　almost　sullen。　　But



after　a　short　silence　he　went　on。　　〃Very　extraordinary。　　I　told　her



I　came　out　to　wander　at　large　in　the　world　when　I　was　nineteen；



almost　directly　after　I　left　school。　　It　seems　that　her　late



brother　was　in　the　same　school　a　couple　of　years　before　me。　　She



wanted　me　to　tell　her　what　I　did　at　first　when　I　came　out　here；



what　other　men　found　to　do　when　they　came　out　…　where　they　went；



what　was　likely　to　happen　to　them　…　as　if　I　could　guess　and



foretell　from　my　experience　the　fates　of　men　who　come　out　here　with



a　hundred　different　projects；　for　hundreds　of　different　reasons　…



for　no　reason　but　restlessness　…　who　come；　and　go；　and　disappear！



Preposterous。　　She　seemed　to　want　to　hear　their　histories。　　I　told



her　that　most　of　them　were　not　worth　telling。〃







The　distinguished　journalist　leaning　on　his　elbow；　his　head　resting



against　the　knuckles　of　his　left　hand；　listened　with　great



attention；　but　gave　no　sign　of　that　surprise　which　Renouard；



pausing；　seemed　to　expect。







〃You　know　something；〃　the　latter　said　brusquely。　　The　all…knowing



man　moved　his　head　slightly　and　said；　〃Yes。　　But　go　on。〃







〃It's　just　this。　　There　is　no　more　to　it。　　I　found　myself　talking



to　her　of　my　adventures；　of　my　early　days。　　It　couldn't　possibly



have　interested　her。　　Really；〃　he　cried；　〃this　is　most



extraordinary。　　Those　people　have　something　on　their　minds。　　We　sat



in　the　light　of　the　window；　and　her　father　prowled　about　the



terrace；　with　his　hands　behind　his　back　and　his　head　drooping。　　The



white…haired　lady　came　to　the　dining…room　window　twice　…　to　look　at



us　I　am　certain。　　The　other　guests　began　to　go　away　…　and　still　we



sat　there。　　Apparently　these　people　are　staying　with　the　Dunsters。



It　was　old　Mrs。　Dunster　who　put　an　end　to　the　thing。　　The　father



and　the　aunt　circled　about　as　if　they　were　afraid　of　interfering



with　the　girl。　　Then　she　got　up　all　at　once；　gave　me　her　hand；　and



said　she　hoped　she　would　see　me　again。〃







While　he　was　speaking　Renouard　saw　again　the　sway　of　her　figure　in



a　movement　of　grace　and　strength　…　felt　the　pressure　of　her　hand　…



heard　the　last　accents　of　the　deep　murmur　that　came　from　her　throat



so　white　in　the　light　of　the　window；　and　remembered　the　black　rays



of　her　steady　eyes　passing　off　his　face　when　she　turned　away。　　He



remembered　all　this　visually；　and　it　was　not　exactly　pleasurable。



It　was　rather　startling　like　the　discovery　of　a　new　faculty　in



himself。　　There　are　faculties　one　would　rather　do　without　…　such；



for　instance；　as　seeing　through　a　stone　wall　or　remembering　a



person　with　this　uncanny　vividness。　　And　what　about　those　two



people　belonging　to　her　with　their　air　of　expectant　solicitude！



Really；　those　figures　from　home　got　in　front　of　one。　　In　fact；



their　persistence　in　getting　between　him　and　the　solid　forms　of　the



everyday　material　world　had　driven　Renouard　to　call　on　his　friend



at　the　office。　　He　hoped　that　a　little　common；　gossipy　information



would　lay　the　ghost　of　that　unexpected　dinner…party。　　Of　course　the



proper　person　to　go　to　would　have　been　young　Dunster；　but；　he



couldn't　stand　Willie　Dunster　…　not　at　any　price。







In　the　pause　the　Editor　had　changed　his　attitude；　faced　his　desk；



and　smiled　a　faint　knowing　smile。







〃Striking　girl　…　eh？〃　he　said。







The　incongruity　of　the　word　was　enough　to　make　one　jump　out　of　the



chair。　　Striking！　　That　girl　striking！　　Stri　。　。　。！　　But　Renouard



restrained　his　feelings。　　His　friend　was　not　a　person　to　give



oneself　away　to。　　And；　after　all；　this　sort　of　speech　was　what　he



had　come　there　to　hear。　　As；　however；　he　had　made　a　movement　he　re…



settled　himself　comfortably　and　said；　with　very　creditable



indifference；　that　yes　…　she　was；　rather。　　Especially　amongst　a　lot



of　over…dressed　frumps。　　There　wasn't　one　woman　under　forty　there。







〃Is　that　the　way　to　speak　of　the　cream　of　our　society；　the　'top　of



the　basket；'　as　the　French　say；〃　the　Editor　remonstrated　with　mock



indignation。　　〃You　aren't　moderate　in　your　expressions　…　you　know。〃







〃I　express　myself　very　little；〃　interjected　Renouard　seriously。







〃I　will　tell　you　what　you　are。　　You　are　a　fellow　that　doesn't　count



the　cost。　　Of　course　you　are　safe　with　me；　but　will　you　never



learn。　。　。　。〃







〃What　struck　me　most；〃　interrupted　the　other；　〃is　that　she　should



pick　me　out　for　such　a　long　conversation。〃







〃That's　perhaps　because　you　were　the　most　remarkable　of　the　men



there。〃







Renouard　shook　his　head。







〃This　shot　doesn't　seem　to　me　to　hit　the　mark；〃　he　said　calmly。



〃Try　again。〃







　〃Don't　you　believe　me？　　Oh；　you　modest　creature。　　Well；　let　me



assure　you　that　under　ordinary　circumstances　it　would　have　been　a



good　shot。　　You　are　sufficiently　remarkable。　　But　you　seem　a　pretty



acute　customer　too。　　The　circumstances　are　extraordinary。　　By　Jove



they　are！〃







He　mused。　　After　a　time　the　Planter　of　Malata　dropped　a　negligent　…







〃And　you　know　them。〃







〃And　I　know　them；〃　assented　the　all…knowing　Editor；　soberly；　as



though　the　occasion　were　too　special　for　a　display　of　professional



vanity；　a　vanity　so　well　known　to　Renouard　that　its　absence



augmented　his　wonder　and　almost　made　him　uneasy　as　if　portending



bad　news　of　some　sort。







〃You　have　met　those　people？〃　he　asked。







〃No。　　I　was　to　have　met　them　last　night；　but　I　had　to　send　an



apology　to　Willie　in　the　morning。　　It　was　then　that　he　had　the



bright　idea　to　invite　you　to　fill　the　place；　from　a　muddle