Not by any means tall she found him, but having the square shoulders and broad chest which give, in so much greater a degree than mere height, an impression of strength,—­a frame agile and compact, with that easy carriage of the head and that rapid movement so deceptively increasing the stature.  The face, too, was probably what, if not informed by a singularly clean and fine soul, would, in the lapse of years, become gross,—­the skin of a clear olive, which had slightly flushed as he addressed herself, but not when speaking to other strangers,—­kept beardless, and rather square in contour; the mouth not small, but keenly cut, like marble, and always quivering before he spoke, as if the lightning of his thought ran thither naturally to seek spontaneous expression; teeth white; chin cleft; nose of the unclassified order, rather long, the curve opposite to aquiline, and saved from sharpness by nostrils that dilated with a pulse of their own, as those of very proud and sensitive people are apt to do; a wide, low forehead crowned with dark hair, long and fine; heavy brows that overhung deep-set eyes of lightest hazel, but endowed by shadow with a power that no eye of gypsy-black ever swayed for an instant.  His whole countenance reminded you of nothing so much as of the young heroes of the French Revolution, for whom irregular features and sallow cheeks were transmuted into brilliant and singular beauty.  It wore an inwrapped air, and, with all its mobility, was a mask.  He very seldom raised the lids, and his pallor, though owning more of the golden touch of the sun, was as dazzling as Mrs. Laudersdale’s own.

Mrs. Laudersdale scarcely observed,—­she felt; and probably she saw nothing but the general impression of what I have been telling you.

“Tea, Roger?” asked Mrs. McLean.

“Green, I thank you, and strong.”

Rising to receive it, he continued his course till it naturally brought him before Mrs. Laudersdale.  Pausing deliberately and sipping the pungent tonic, he at last looked up, and said,—­

“Well, you are offended?”

“Then you were awake when I stayed to look at you?” she asked, in reply; for curiosity is a solvent.

“Then you did stay and look at me?  That is exactly what I wished to know.  How did I look, Belphoebe?”

“Out of his eyes, tell him,” said Helen Heath, in passing.

“They were not open,” responded Mrs. Laudersdale.  “And I cannot tell how you saw me.”

“I saw you as Virgil saw his mother,—­I mean Aeneas,—­as the goddesses are always known, you remember, in departure.”

Mrs. Laudersdale felt a weight on her lids beneath his glance, and rose to approach the table.

“Allow me,” said Mr. Raleigh, taking her plate and bringing it back directly with a wafery slice of bread and a quaking tumulus of jelly.

Mrs. Laudersdale laughed, though perhaps scarcely pleased with him.

“How did you know my tastes so well?” she asked.