She was very beautiful.  The first brief look convinced Mr. Saltram that upon this point at least her lover had indulged in no loverlike exaggeration.  There was a singular charm in the face; a higher, more penetrating loveliness than mere perfection of feature; a kind of beauty that would have been at once the delight and desperation of a painter—­so fitting a subject for his brush, so utterly beyond the power of perfect reproduction, unless by one of those happy, almost accidental successes which make the triumphs of genius.

John Saltram watched Marian Nowell’s face thoughtfully as he talked to her, for the most part, about the pictures which they were looking at together.  Before their inspection of these art-treasures was ended, he was fain to confess to himself that she was intelligent as well as beautiful.  It was not that she had said anything particularly brilliant, or had shown herself learned in the qualities of the old Dutch masters; but she possessed that charming childlike capacity for receiving information from a superior mind, and that perfect and rapid power of appreciating a clever man’s conversation, which are apt to seem so delightful to the sterner sex when exhibited by a pretty woman.  At first she had been just a little shy and constrained in her talk with John Saltram.  Her lover’s account of this man had not inspired her with any exalted opinion of his character.  She was rather inclined to look upon him as a person to be dreaded, a friend whose influence was dangerous at best, and who might prove the evil genius of Gilbert Fenton’s life.  But whatever her opinion on this point might remain, her reserve soon melted before John Saltram’s clever talk and kindly conciliating manner.  He laid himself out to please on this occasion, and it was very rarely he did that without succeeding.

“I want you to think of me as a kind of brother, Miss Nowell,” he said in the course of their talk.  “Gilbert and I have been something like brothers for the last twelve years of our lives, and it would be a hard thing, for one of us at least, if our friendship should ever be lessened.  You shall find me discretion itself by-and-by, and you shall see that I can respect Gilbert’s altered position; but I shouldn’t like to lose him, and I don’t think you look capable of setting your face against your husband’s old friend.”

Marian blushed a little at this, remembering that only an hour or two ago she had been thinking that this friendship was a perilous one for Gilbert, and that it would be well if John Saltram’s influence over him could be lessened somehow in the future.

“I don’t believe I should ever have the power to diminish Gilbert’s regard for you, Mr. Saltram, even were I inclined to do so,” she said.

“O yes, you would; your power over him will be illimitable, depend upon it.  But now I have seen you, I think you will only use it wisely.”

Marian shook her head, laughing gaily.