It was, he found himself thinking, an unforgettable face: a face that could haunt a man’s dreams. Her hair was parted in the exact centre of her head and framed her face, reaching almost to her shoulders. She had a straight-cut fringe which half concealed an unusually broad forehead. But it was her eyes that attracted him. He liked the serious and yet half-humorous curiosity he fancied he found in them, as if she were looking out on to a world she found exciting, novel and unexplored.
“Most men appear to get struck all of a heap when they see her,” Mauvis Powell said dryly.
The sound of her voice made Conrad start.
“Why, yes,” he said a little blankly. “She is unusual, isn’t she?”
“But she couldn’t act worth a cent,” Mauvis Powell said scornfully. “She’s wasting her time in pictures.”
Conrad took out his billfold and slipped the photograph into one of the compartments.
“I’ll be glad to keep this if you can spare it.”
She smiled, and her direct look embarrassed him, to his annoyance.
“Keep it by all means.”
Conrad found he had to make a slight effort to concentrate; his mind was still occupied with the photograph.