But Fenwick scarcely replied.

He stalked on, his great black eyes glancing restlessly from side to side; and the private secretary thought him a boor.
As he was standing bewildered inside the dining-room a servant caught hold of him and piloted him to his seat.

A lady in white, who was already seated in the next chair, looked up and smiled.
'My father told me we were to be neighbours.

I must introduce myself.' She held out a small hand, which, in his sudden pleasure, Fenwick grasped more cordially than was necessary.

She withdrew it smiling, and he sat down, feeling himself an impulsive ass, intimidated by the lights, the flowers, the multitude of his knives and forks, and most of all, perhaps, by this striking and brilliant creature beside him.
Madame de Pastourelles was of middle height, slenderly built, with pale-brown hair, and a delicately white face, of a very perfect oval.
She had large, quiet eyes, darker than her hair; features small, yet of a noble outline--strength in refinement.