Before him stood a woman whose face changed indescribably, but who always possessed fascination. Slender and pale, Evelyn’s one real beauty lay in the shape of her features, the modelling of her face; in the extraordinary light and shadows that made her eyes profound, her look a spur to flick a man’s blood into action, or a caress in which he might find peace. And as Farquharson looked another picture rose suddenly before him, a vision of his childhood. The oval face, the dusky hair that waved back from the forehead, the turn of the rounded throat, the shape of the small head, all were familiar. He recognized them. They were his own—he had loved them long ago. He had stood before them night after night in the picture-gallery at Glune. "A woman to dream of and to work beside." As Kilmaurs had written about Margaret Cunningham, in a lyric the ink of which had faded many years before, so Richard Farquharson felt now for the woman of his dreams. Here, in the flesh she stood before him, perfect companion, perfect lover and wife. He looked half smiling at her hands—the hands he had loved in the picture—and for the first time wondered what it would be to a man to feel such hands about his throat, drawing him down in mute surrender. "_Non so dirvi la sensasione che mi danno._" A scene in D’Annuncio’s play came back to him; the sight of the slender figure recalled Bianca Maria’s passionate appeal to Anna, when the blind woman’s hands were passing, feature by feature, across the girl’s face, feeling for the beauties which she could not see, but for which others hungered.... "_Sembra che le vostre dita vedano.... E come uno sguardo che insista, che prema, sembra die tutta l’ anima discenda all’ estremita delle vostre dita._" "_Sembra che tutta l’ anima discenda all’ estremita delle vostre dita._" He could not have spoken the words aloud, for no one heard them. But there are thoughts which have wings, like birds, which fly home to nestle in their natural sanctuary. Evelyn drew back, disturbed and tremulous, like a child who stands hesitating at the door of a room which it has always wanted to enter, but which has been barred until now. In the music-room beyond, a professional pianist was playing the opening chords of one of Brahms’ preludes. The notes echoed like the accompaniment of powerful thought. Evelyn, moving back unconsciously, swayed with sudden vertigo. Farquharson turned to answer some question of Beadon’s. Hare crossed to Evelyn; it seemed to her afterwards that he must have interposed his massive figure between her and Farquharson. He spoke, and the sense of his words came to her vaguely, like a dream. "A strong personality—that. The man sees clearly and acts promptly, and will usually get what he wants." *CHAPTER II*