“Felix is looking handsomer than ever tonight, isn’t he!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” he answered hesitatingly. “But, Margaret, there’s an expression growing on his face that I don’t like. It’s creating a doubt about him in my mind.”
“What do you mean? His manner tonight toward all this queer mixture of people has been perfect—cordial, unassuming, delicately courteous and friendly toward every one. And, really, Philip, I don’t know a handsomer man! His face is so refined, and those brown, caressing eyes of his are enough to turn any girl’s head. I don’t wonder in the least that Mildred is so completely in love with him. What is it you don’t like about his looks, Philip?”
“I don’t quite know, and perhaps it isn’t fair to him to put it into words until I do know. It is less evident tonight, when he is all animation and his thoughts are full of the entertainment of his guests, than I have seen it sometimes lately. You know, Margaret, Felix has an unusually expressive countenance. It’s like a crystal mask, and it’s bound to reveal the very shape and color of his soul. I think I begin to see signs in it of selfishness and grossness—”
“Oh, Philip! How can you! Grossness! He’s the most refined——”
“You haven’t announced Mildred’s engagement yet, have you?” her husband interrupted. “I’m glad of that,” he went on in a relieved tone as she shook her head, “and I hope you will not for some time.”
“Mildred is beginning to look forward rather eagerly to being married,” said Mrs. Annister, smiling soberly. “I’m almost afraid she’s more in love than he is.”
“I’m so glad I came tonight. It has been lovely!” Henrietta Marne at that moment was saying to her host, at the other side of the room.
“You have enjoyed it?” and he bent upon her his brown eyes with their look of caressing indulgence. “I’m glad of that, for I’m afraid you don’t have as many enjoyments as a girl ought to have, by right of her youth and beauty and charm.”