“Why, he is most entertaining,” protested Ethel. “He has traveled all over the globe and in the most interesting places. And he isn’t old, not over——”
“Sixty!”
“Nonsense!” indignantly. “I don’t believe he is forty-five. It’s those glasses he wears which give him a venerable air; if you examine his face you will find it quite young——”
“I’ll take your word for it; can’t waste time examining his face,” and Barclay’s gaze never left Ethel. “Don’t move, Miss Ogden,” he entreated. “Against that background of wonderful old silk hangings you’d made a lovely miniature.”
“Flatterer!” Ethel’s eyes sank under his ardent look. “I’ll never achieve a miniature; they are too expensive.”
“Do you mean to say that your family or friends have never had your miniature painted?” asked Barclay incredulously, and his hand felt the small gold miniature case tucked securely inside a concealed pocket of his dress suit. If the miniature had fascinated him, its living prototype had bewitched him, he admitted with secret rage, but he could no more tear himself away from Ethel’s vicinity than the proverbial moth can ignore the candle. “Never had your miniature painted?” he repeated.
“Never,” Ethel laughed faintly at his persistent vehemence. “Awfully short-sighted of them to overlook such a thing of beauty,” she mocked. Like most really beautiful women, Ethel rarely thought of it. But she was aware of a charm, all her own, for it had smoothed life for her since childhood. Her blue eyes, which met every gaze with frank interest, were made for laughter, but in moments of stress their glance deepened, and she was rarely deceived by specious flattery or the equally treacherous frankness which often covers deceit. Her pale golden hair was her crowning beauty which, with the unconscious grace of her every movement made her presence felt however or wherever she appeared. “Here comes Professor Norcross,” she announced, glancing down the room.
“Then I’m going,” ejaculated Barclay. “Don’t forget those dances,” and he disappeared behind the portières as the professor pushed his way through the throng and joined Ethel.
“Curious, morose sort of chap, Barclay,” observed Norcross. “What made him leave you so suddenly? I asked,” he hastened to explain, seeing her surprise at the question, “because I have a feeling that Barclay is avoiding me.”
“Why should you think that?” parried Ethel. She had observed Barclay’s distrait manner and lapse into silence whenever the professor appeared, and the situation was commencing to pique her curiosity. Not getting an immediate reply to her question she changed the subject. “Suppose we go out to supper,” she suggested, and Norcross accompanied her across the room. They found the dining room too crowded for comfort, and at Norcross’ suggestion Ethel remained near the entrance, while he went in search of an ice.