His swift scrutiny of his brother over, Mr.Caryll's glance passed on to become riveted upon the face of the lady at the table's head.

In addition to the beauties which from above he had descried, he now perceived that her mouth was sensitive and kindly, her whole expression one of gentle wistfulness, exceeding sweet to contemplate.

What did she in this galley, he wondered; and he has confessed that just as at sight he had disliked his brother, so from that hour--from the very instant of his eyes' alighting on her there--he loved the lady whom his brother was to wed, felt a surpassing need of her, conceived that in the meeting of their eyes their very souls had met, so that it was to him as if he had known her since he had known anything.

Meanwhile there was his lordship's question to be answered.

He answered it mechanically, his eyes upon the lady, and she returning the gaze of those queer, greenish eyes with a sweetness that gave place to no confusion.
"I am from France, sir." "But not French ?" his lordship continued.
Mr.Caryll fetched his eyes from the lady's to meet Lord Rotherby's.
"More than half French," he replied, the French taint in his accent growing slightly more pronounced.