She was looking at Colonel Capadose as if she were in love with him--a queer accident for the proudest, most reserved of women. But doubtless it was all right, if her husband liked it or didn't notice it: he had heard indefinitely, years before, that she was married, and he took for granted (as he had not heard that she had become a widow) the presence of the happy man on whom she had conferred what she had refused to _him_, the poor art-student at Munich. Colonel Capadose appeared to be aware of nothing, and this circumstance, incongruously enough, rather irritated Lyon than gratified him. Suddenly the lady turned her head, showing her full face to our hero. He was so prepared with a greeting that he instantly smiled, as a shaken jug overflows; but she gave him no response, turned away again and sank back in her chair. All that her face said in that instant was, 'You see I'm as handsome as ever.' To which he mentally subjoined, 'Yes, and as much good it does me!' He asked the young man beside him if he knew who that beautiful being was--the fifth person beyond him. The young man leaned forward, considered and then said, 'I think she's Mrs. Capadose.' 'Do you mean his wife--that fellow's?' And Lyon indicated the subject of the information given him by his other neighbour. 'Oh, is _he_ Mr. Capadose?' said the young man, who appeared very vague. He admitted his vagueness and explained it by saying that there were so many people and he had come only the day before. What was definite to Lyon was that Mrs. Capadose was in love with her husband; so that he wished more than ever that he had married her. 'She's very faithful,' he found himself saying three minutes later to the lady on his right. He added that he meant Mrs. Capadose. 'Ah, you know her then?' 'I knew her once upon a time--when I was living abroad.' 'Why then were you asking me about her husband?' 'Precisely for that reason. She married after that--I didn't even know her present name.' 'How then do you know it now?' 'This gentleman has just told me--he appears to know.' 'I didn't know he knew anything,' said the lady, glancing forward. 'I don't think he knows anything but that.' 'Then you have found out for yourself that she is faithful. What do you mean by that?' 'Ah, you mustn't question me--I want to question you,' Lyon said. 'How do you all like her here?' 'You ask too much! I can only speak for myself. I think she's hard.' 'That's only because she's honest and straightforward.' 'Do you mean I like people in proportion as they deceive?' 'I think we all do, so long as we don't find them out,' Lyon said. 'And then there's something in her face--a sort of Roman type, in spite of her having such an English eye. In fact she's English down to the ground; but her complexion, her low forehead and that beautiful close little wave in her dark hair make her look like a glorified _contadina_.'