over brown. His dark eyes were very observant, his dress was meticulously careful, his manner quiet, and especially so by contrast with that of three out of the other four at the table. Teresa alone had anything approaching his own inexpressive repose. She was as unmoved as though the dinner had turned out well, and the talk had gone smoothly, and as little talkative herself. Basil, on whom the social burden seemed to rest, fidgetted distinctly under it, and drank more of the old whisky than he might have done otherwise. He and Teresa exchanged the sort of cheerful glances which masked on his part a grievance and on hers a calm perception that he was unreasonable. True, the evening was spoilt, but why allow a little passing discomfort to disturb one's whole moral being? An uncomfortable social situation was, however, a positive torment to Basil. By as much as he expanded and glowed when he was at ease, by the extent of his possible charm, was to be measured the effect on him of this sort of mishap. Teresa reflected about him, while talk went on disjointedly, and arrived at a feeling of keen liking for him; she saw something lovable even in the way he hurled himself into his coat, and departed with the Englishman; for, when the latter had declined coffee and liqueurs, it was already rather late for his theatre.
Aunt Sophy soon went away, and Erhart was
