To Laura she had never seemed more beautiful nor more unhappy.

Then suddenly her manner underwent a curious change, and her accustomed mask--the smiling surface of a woman of the world--settled as if by magic upon her face.
Perry Bridewell was at the door, and she opened it for him with an unconcern at which Laura wondered.
"Come in if you want to," she said coolly, "Laura doesn't mind." She drew back into the middle of the room, fastening her glove with insolent indifference, while his startled gaze hung upon her in an amazement he lacked the mental readiness to hide.
"By Jove, are you going out ?" he asked.

"I thought you were downright ill and I was about to call up the doctor.

I'm jolly glad--I declare I am," he added humbly.
From the sincere anxiety in his voice, Laura surmised at once that Gerty's exasperation had preceded by some hours her cooler judgment.

He looked as uncomfortable as it was possible for a man of his optimistic habit of mind to feel, and an evident humiliation was traced upon his countenance as if by several hasty touches of a crayon pencil.
But his features were intended so manifestly to wear a look of cheerful self-esteem that his dejection, honest as it was, produced an effect of insincerity, and it seemed to Laura that his other and more natural expression was still lying somewhere beneath this superficial remorse.
Considered as physical bulk he was impressive, she admitted, in a large, ruddy, highly obvious fashion; then he appeared suddenly so stupid and child-like in his discomfiture that she felt her heart softening in spite of her convictions.