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you're mistaken。 He introduces every one。 He thinks me
insatiable。〃
〃You speak just like him；〃 laughed our youth。
〃Ah but sometimes I want to〃 … and the girl coloured。 〃I don't
read everything … I read very little。 But I HAVE read you。〃
〃Suppose we go into the gallery；〃 said Paul Overt。 She pleased him
greatly； not so much because of this last remark … though that of
course was not too disconcerting … as because； seated opposite to
him at luncheon； she had given him for half an hour the impression
of her beautiful face。 Something else had come with it … a sense
of generosity； of an enthusiasm which； unlike many enthusiasms； was
not all manner。 That was not spoiled for him by his seeing that
the repast had placed her again in familiar contact with Henry St。
George。 Sitting next her this celebrity was also opposite our
young man； who had been able to note that he multiplied the
attentions lately brought by his wife to the General's notice。
Paul Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the least
discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of
an unclouded spirit。 She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on
the other the accomplished Mr。 Mulliner； editor of the new high…
class lively evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt
in circles increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made
amusing； and unconvinced when assured by those of another political
colour that it was already amusing enough。 At the end of an hour
spent in her company Paul Overt thought her still prettier than at
the first radiation； and if her profane allusions to her husband's
work had not still rung in his ears he should have liked her … so
far as it could be a question of that in connexion with a woman to
whom he had not yet spoken and to whom probably he should never
speak if it were left to her。 Pretty women were a clear need to
this genius； and for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied the
want。 If Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was
now of the best； and it brought consequences felt by the young man
as important。 He saw more in St。 George's face； which he liked the
better for its not having told its whole story in the first three
minutes。 That story came out as one read； in short instalments …
it was excusable that one's analogies should be somewhat
professional … and the text was a style considerably involved； a
language not easy to translate at sight。 There were shades of
meaning in it and a vague perspective of history which receded as
you advanced。 Two facts Paul had particularly heeded。 The first
of these was that he liked the measured mask much better at
inscrutable rest than in social agitation； its almost convulsive
smile above all displeased him （as much as any impression from that
source could）； whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in
proportion as stillness settled again。 The change to the
expression of gaiety excited； he made out； very much the private
protest of a person sitting gratefully in the twilight when the
lamp is brought in too soon。 His second reflexion was that； though
generally averse to the flagrant use of ingratiating arts by a man
of age 〃making up〃 to a pretty girl； he was not in this case too
painfully affected： which seemed to prove either that St。 George
had a light hand or the air of being younger than he was； or else
that Miss Fancourt's own manner somehow made everything right。
Overt walked with her into the gallery； and they strolled to the
end of it； looking at the pictures； the cabinets； the charming
vista； which harmonised with the prospect of the summer afternoon；
resembling it by a long brightness； with great divans and old
chairs that figured hours of rest。 Such a place as that had the
added merit of giving those who came into it plenty to talk about。
Miss Fancourt sat down with her new acquaintance on a flowered
sofa； the cushions of which； very numerous； were tight ancient
cubes of many sizes； and presently said： 〃I'm so glad to have a
chance to thank you。〃
〃To thank me … ？〃 He had to wonder。
〃I liked your book so much。 I think it splendid。〃
She sat there smiling at him； and he never asked himself which book
she meant； for after all he had written three or four。 That seemed
a vulgar detail； and he wasn't even gratified by the idea of the
pleasure she told him … her handsome bright face told him … he had
given her。 The feeling she appealed to； or at any rate the feeling
she excited； was something larger； something that had little to do
with any quickened pulsation of his own vanity。 It was responsive
admiration of the life she embodied； the young purity and richness
of which appeared to imply that real success was to resemble THAT；
to live； to bloom； to present the perfection of a fine type； not to
have hammered out headachy fancies with a bent back at an ink…
stained table。 While her grey eyes rested on him … there was a
wideish space between these； and the division of her rich…coloured
hair； so thick that it ventured to be smooth； made a free arch
above them … he was almost ashamed of that exercise of the pen
which it was her present inclination to commend。 He was conscious
he should have liked better to please her in some other way。 The
lines of her face were those of a woman grown； but the child
lingered on in her complexion and in the sweetness of her mouth。
Above all she was natural … that was indubitable now； more natural
than he had supposed at first； perhaps on account of her aesthetic
toggery； which was conventionally unconventional； suggesting what
he might have called a tortuous spontaneity。 He had feared that
sort of thing in other cases； and his fears had been justified；
for； though he was an artist to the essence； the modern reactionary
nymph； with the brambles of the woodland caught in her folds and a
look as if the satyrs had toyed with her hair； made him shrink not
as a man of starch and patent leather； but as a man potentially
himself a poet or even a faun。 The girl was really more candid
than her costume； and the best proof of it was her supposing her
liberal character suited by any uniform。 This was a fallacy； since
if she was draped as a pessimist he was sure she liked the taste of
life。 He thanked her for her appreciation … aware at the same time
that he didn't appear to thank her enough and that she might think
him ungracious。 He was afraid she would ask him to explain
something he had written； and he always winced at that … perhaps
too timidly … for to his own ear the explanation of a work of art
sounded fatuous。 But he liked her so much as to feel a confidence
that in the long run he should be able to show her he wasn't rudely
evasive。 Moreover she surely wasn't quick to take offence； wasn't
irritable； she could be trusted to wait。 So when he said to her；
〃Ah don't talk of anything I've done； don't talk of it HERE；
there's ano