Martin lay back in his chair and watched him, a twinkle in his eye.
“You’re beautiful, all right,” he said.
Roberts turned around and nodded seriously.
“I know I am,” he answered. “But there is more character than feature—that’s what pleases me.”
Martin laughed good-naturedly and got out of his chair.
“Both qualities are necessary for complicity with women, aren’t they?”
Roberts gave him a slow, cynical smile and they left.
Martin was sorry that he had accepted the invitation to the party when he met his hostess, for her immoderate greeting brought about a sudden loneliness within him. Among the guests this feeling of desolation grew stronger. Their faces and smiles seemed vaporous and foreign. One large fellow grinned persistently, his eyes unfocused. Only the hostess retained her buoyancy. She bounded from person to person with an amazing levity. There were sentences all over the room, but they were incoherent, more porous than the faces. Feeling helpless, Martin went to a corner and sat down. One of the guests sang “The Bells of St. Mary’s” backwards, and Martin began to doze.
Through his discomfort he heard a new voice. Clear, apart from the conversation, it held his attention. He opened his eyes. Near the fireplace at the other end of the room, on a large divan and leaning far back into it, sat a blond young man, his legs crossed. In spite of his careless attitude, Martin was conscious of the earnestness with which the other regarded him. Fully aware of Martin’s observation the man continued to look at him squarely. At last he sat straighter, brushed his hair into place with a sweep of his hand and gave Martin an unusually provocative smile. Its good nature was genuine, but Martin kept to his own melancholy and somber stare. He had never seen a man with such apparent knowledge of his blood and caste, nor one so youthfully wise. Altogether, Martin saw in him a weathered, inbred prototype of himself, an experienced apprentice. It was the soil, the rash, the water Martin needed; and he continued to stare like a child absorbed. It was not until the young man turned to his companion that Martin realized that a woman as individual—more quickly individual, held his strange friend’s arm. Under Martin’s continued gaze she placed her other hand upon the blond man’s sleeve and looked up at him questioningly.