Combined with this was a touch of weariness about the eyelids which drooped in a lofty way.

Cowperwood was fascinated.

Because of the daughter he professed an interest in the mother, which he really did not feel.
A little later Cowperwood was moved to definite action by the discovery in a photographer's window in Louisville of a second picture of Berenice--a rather large affair which Mrs.Carter had had enlarged from a print sent her by her daughter some time before.

Berenice was standing rather indifferently posed at the corner of a colonial mantel, a soft straw outing-hat held negligently in one hand, one hip sunk lower than the other, a faint, elusive smile playing dimly around her mouth.

The smile was really not a smile, but only the wraith of one, and the eyes were wide, disingenuous, mock-simple.