His face of Lucifer, Son of the Morning, his perfect thoughtfulness, his unfailing gentle politeness, his melancholy and his very coldness, attracted her; and always watching him, she had now and again a glimpse of the possibilities of energy and passion which underlay the mask of his languor.

At times, too, her woman's intuition assured her that, for all his dislike, or rather distaste, of women, she attracted him.
Unfortunately, but naturally, Sir Tancred and Lord Crosland were not the only men who found her beautiful.

Monsieur le Comte Sigismond de Puy-de-Dome, hero of many duels and more scandals, and darling of the Nationalist Press, also saw her beauty.

With him to see was to act, and he never passed her without a conquering twirl of his waxed moustache, and a staring leer which he fondly believed to be a glance teeming with passion.

Since even he, conscious as he was of his extraordinary fascination, could hardly mistake her look of annoyance for the glow of responsive passion, he resolved on more masterly action.