I was taken in to dinner by a stately elderly man who tried to make me talk, and at last was absorbed by the clever woman on his other side.
I found myself looking between the flowers for a man's face I could imagine was Hector MacNairn's.

I looked up and down and saw none I could believe belonged to him.

There were handsome faces and individual ones, but at first I saw no Hector MacNairn.

Then, on bending forward a little to glance behind an epergne, I found a face which it surprised and pleased me to see.

It was the face of the traveler who had helped the woman in mourning out of the railway carriage, baring his head before her grief.