The objectionable cigarette was between his lips, his hands were thrust in his pockets, there was a kind of swagger in his walk.

He looked like a gentleman, but one of the wrong kind, the sort of man one meets in the lowest stratum of the Fast Set.

Celia noted all this, without appearing to look at him; it is a way women have, that swift, sideways glance under their lashes, the glance that takes in so much while seeming quite casual and uninterested.
Lord Heyton stared at her, curiously and boldly; her youth and her beauty brought a smile to his face, the smile which is very near to an insult, and he removed his cigarette and opened his lips, as if to speak to her.

But, as if unconscious of his presence, Celia went up the stairs quickly and looking straight before her.

She had seen the smile, and knew, without looking back, that he was standing in the hall and staring up at her.
Instinctively, she felt that Lord Heyton was a man to be avoided..