The softness of the green, the cool health of the foliage, changed the look of his eye from something cold and curious to something companionable, and scarcely above a whisper two words came from his lips: "Kathleen! Kathleen!" By the mere sound of the voice it would have been hard to tell what the words meant, for it had an inquiring cadence and yet a kind of distant doubt, a vague anxiety.

The face conveyed nothing--it was smooth, fresh, and immobile.

The only point where the mind and meaning of the man worked according to the law of his life was at the eye, where the monocle was caught now as in a vise.

Behind this glass there was a troubled depth which belied the self-indulgent mouth, the egotism speaking loudly in the red tie, the jewelled finger, the ostentatiously simple yet sumptuous clothes.
At last he drew in a sharp, sibilant breath, clicked his tongue--a sound of devil-may-care and hopelessness at once--and turned to a little cupboard behind him.

The chair squeaked on the floor as he turned, and he frowned, shivered a little, and kicked it irritably with his heel.
From the cupboard he took a bottle of liqueur, and, pouring out a small glassful, drank it off eagerly.