Mr. Stormont-Eade himself was a tall, good-looking man who had nearly succeeded, by dint of careful attention to his good points, in conveying the impression that he was a handsome man. He had fine eyes, really remarkably fine, as he was well aware, when they were earnest, and they were looking now with a deep intensity of meaning, which was their normal expression, into Mrs. Romayne’s face; his mouth was not so admirable except when he smiled, and consequently his thin lips were slightly curved; his figure was too thin, and the touch of picturesqueness about his pose and about his velvet coat redeemed it; but his closely-curling hair was cut short and trim, and showed the excellent shape of his head to the best advantage. He had come up to Mrs. Romayne only a minute or two before at the conclusion of a song; a very little very fashionable music was always a feature of the Stormont-Eades’ entertainments, and “good people”--the phrase in this connection representing clever professionals possessed of the social ambition of the day--were glad to sing or play for them; and she had begun to speak of a little picture of his which was one of the themes of the moment. Mrs. Romayne was dressed from head to foot in carefully harmonised shades of green--green was the colour of the season--with a good deal of soft black fur about it. Her bonnet became her to perfection; her face was so animated that in the soft light a certain haggard sharpness of contour was hardly perceptible. Her smiles and laughs as she exchanged greetings and chat were always ready; if they left her eyes quite untouched, her attention was apparently as free and disengaged as were the gay little gestures with which she emphasized her talk. There was absolutely nothing about her which could have suggested to the ordinary observer anything beyond the surface of finished society woman which she was presenting so brightly to the world. But on the previous evening she had had a note from Falconer, written immediately after his interview with “the girl,” telling her only that he was to have a second interview, and would see her on the following day. That day was now drawing to a close, and she had as yet heard nothing further. “It enchanted me!” she said now. “But then your things always do enchant me, you know! By-the-bye, people say that you are going to do a big picture. I hope that is not so? Little bits are so much more fascinating.” Mr. Stormont-Eade smiled--the tender, comprehending smile that was one of his charms. “No, it is not true,” he said. “One is so fettered with a large work, but little things represent the inspiration, the feeling of the moment. If they have any value, it lies in that.” They had a distinct financial value, though it is doubtful whether the dealers would have recognised the source. “Ah, the feeling of the moment!” said Mrs. Romayne with pretty fervour. “That is what one so seldom gets, isn’t it? And it is so delightful!”