Sir Arthur and the girl Dora whipped round. Anthony turned more slowly. What he saw he will never forget. “A woman tall and most superbly dark,” he said to himself later. Tall she was, though not so tall as her carriage made her seem. And dark she was, but with the splendour of a flame: dark with something of a Latin darkness. Night-black hair dressed simply, almost severely, but with art; great eyes that seemed, though they were not, even darker than the hair; a scarlet, passionate mouth in which, for all its present grimness, Anthony could discern humour and a gracious sensuality; and a body which fulfilled the promise of the face. Anthony looked his fill. Dora was beside her. “Loo darling! Lucia!” she was saying. “It—it’s terrible, but—but it’s nothing to do with us. What’s upset you so? What’s the matter, darling?” Sir Arthur came forward. Simply, straightforwardly, he told of Hoode’s death. “It’s an awful blow for me,” he concluded, “but I wouldn’t have frightened you for worlds, Lucia.” From where he stood discreetly in the background, Anthony saw a pale half-smile flit across her face. She was seated now, the young sister hovering solicitous about her, but he noted the tension of all the muscles that preceded that smile. “I—I don’t know what made me so—so foolish,” she said. And this time her voice, that golden voice, was under control. Anthony was strangely moved. She became suddenly aware of the presence of a stranger. Anthony was presented. The touch of her hand sent a thrill up his arm and thence through his body, a thrill which first sent the blood madly to his head and then left him pale. He kept his face from the light. He reproached himself for possessing, in the thirties, the sudden emotions of sixteen. The two sisters withdrew. Lunch, they said, would be ready in five minutes. Sir Arthur dropped into a chair and looked across at Anthony with raised eyebrows. “A little overwrought,” said Anthony. “Yes. She can’t be well. Most unusual for Lucia to be anything but mistress of herself. Expect she was feeling cheap and then got scared by my sepulchral voice.” He fell silent for a moment; then a smile broke across the tired sadness of his face. “Well, what impression has she made on you, Gethryn?” “My feelings,” Anthony said, “are concerned with Mr. Lemesurier. I wonder is he worthy of his luck?” Sir Arthur smiled again. “You’ll have a job to find out, my boy. Jack Lemesurier’s been dead for four years.” A gong announced lunch. At the foot of the stairs Mrs. Lemesurier encountered her sister. Dora was still solicitous. “Feeling better, Loo darling?” she asked. Lucia grasped her sister’s arm. “Dot, who—who was that man with Sir Arthur?” Her voice rose. “Who is he? Dot, tell me!” Dora looked up in amazement. “What _is_ the matter, dear? I’ve never known you behave like this before.”