CHAPTER II.
But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell, The King behind his shoulder spake: "Dead man, thou dost not well." -- RUDYARD KIPLING.
Hugh had gone through the first room, and, after a quarter of an hour, found himself in the door-way of the second.

He had arrived late, and the rooms were already thinning.
A woman in a pale-green gown was standing near the open window, her white profile outlined against the framed darkness, as she listened with evident amusement to the tall, ill-dressed man beside her.
Hugh's eyes lost the veiled scorn with which it was their wont to look at society and the indulgent patronage which lurked in them for pretty women.
Rachel West slowly turned her face towards him without seeing him, and his heart leaped.

She was not beautiful except with the beauty of health, and a certain dignity of carriage which is the outcome of a head and hands and body that are at unity with each other, and with a mind absolutely unconscious of self.

She had not the long nose which so frequently usurps more than its share of the faces of the well-bred, nor had she, alas! the short upper lip which redeems everything.

Her features were as insignificant as her coloring.