Then he decided that she was not beautiful. She turned her face into another light, and beauty came into it again; another turn and it vanished. A will-o’-the-wisp, the hunting of which became an absorbing pursuit.
At lunch René sat opposite her, and hardly ever took his eyes from her face. Only when he seemed in danger of meeting her gaze did he turn away. Once he met her eyes and she smiled, seemed to be considering him gravely and very seriously in the depths of her mind, then dismissed him.
“She is beautiful,” thought he, and from that moment she had his homage.
Presently she appealed to him:
“Mr. M’Elroy won’t have it that Thrigsby is better than London. What do you say?”
“I’ve never been to London,” replied René.
“Don’t you love Thrigsby?”
“It’s been my home always. I don’t know that I ever thought about it.”
M’Elroy said:
“One thinks about everything nowadays.”