A child, but a very gay and winning child, when she came into Malvani’s with her long swaying step, direct glance, and joyous mouth.  A spirit of excitement sparkled in Isabel tonight, and every movement was a separate and conscious pleasure to her:  the physical sensation of walking delicately, the ripple of her skirt over her ankles, the poise of her shoulders under their transparent veil. . . .  Laura saw a dozen men turn to look after the Wanhope party, and took no credit for it, though not long ago she had been accustomed to be watched when she moved through a public room.  But now she was better pleased to see Isabel admired than to be admired herself.

As they neared their reserved table a man who had been sitting at it rose with an amused smile.  “Have you forgotten who I am, Laura?”

“One might as well be even numbers,” Lawrence explained.  “So, as I knew Selincourt was in town, I wired to him to join us.”

A worn, fatigued-looking, but not ungentle rake of forty, Selincourt had stayed once at Wanhope, but the visit had not been a success:  indeed Laura had been thankful when it ended before host and guest threw the decanters at each other’s heads.  That she was pleased to see him now there could be no doubt:  she had taken him by both hands and was smiling at him as if she would have liked to fling decorum to the winds and kiss him.  Lawrence also smiled but with a touch of finesse.  His plan was working.  Laura was going to enjoy herself:  bon! he was truly fond of Laura and delighted to give her pleasure.  But by it he would be left free to devote himself to Isabel.

It was to this end that he had planned the entire expedition.  At Chilmark they met continually in the same setting, and he had no means of printing a fresh image of himself on her mind, but here he was free of country customs, a rich man among his equals, an expert in the art of “doing oneself well”—­one of those who rule over modern civilization by divine right of a chequebook and a trained manner.  Isabel had been brought up by High Churchmen, had she?  Let them test what hold they had of her!  Every aspect of their journey and of the supper-table at Malvani’s, with its heady music and smell of rich food and wines, had been calculated to produce a certain effect—­an intoxication of excitement and pleasure.  And he set himself to stamp his own impression on Isabel, naming to her, in his soft, isolating undertones, the notable men and women in the room, describing their careers, their finances, even their scandals—­it amused him to watch her repress a start.  It amused him still more to stand up and shake hands when the immense body and Hebraic nose of an international financier went by with two great ladies and a cabinet minister in tow.  “One of my countrymen,” Hyde turned to Isabel with a mocking smile.  “I am a citizen of no mean city.  Those—­” with an imperceptible jerk of the head—­“would lick the dust off his boots to find out what line the Jew bankers mean to take in the Syrian question.  They might as well lick mine.”