Some underneath excitement to see his friend Markrute's niece had tingled in his veins from the moment he had left the house.
What sort of a woman could it be who would be willing to marry a perfect stranger for the sake of his title and position?
The quarter-of-an-hour's wait had not added to his calm.

So when the door had eventually opened for her entry he had glanced up with intense interest, and had then drawn in his breath as she advanced up the room.
The physical part of the lady at all events was extremely delectable.
But when he was presented and his eyes met hers he was startled by the look of smoldering, somber hate he saw in them.
What could it all mean?
Francis must have been romancing.

Why should she look at him like that, if she were willing to marry him?
He was piqued and interested.
She spoke not a word as they went down to dinner, but he was no raw youth to be snubbed thus into silence.

His easy, polished manner soon started a conversation upon the usual everyday things.

He received "Yes" and "No" for answers.