At the table Miss Ruston and Dr. Leaver found themselves nearly opposite.  Leaver talked conscientiously with his companion, then devoted himself to Winifred Chester, upon his other side.  Returning to do his duty by Miss Everett, he found her eager to discuss those opposite.

“They say Miss Ruston does the most wonderful photographs,” she observed.  “One would know she was devoted to some art, wouldn’t one?  The way that frock is cut about her shoulders—­only an artist would venture to wear it like that, without a single touch of colour.  Every other woman I know would have put on a string of gold beads or pearls or at least a pendant of some sort.”

For a moment Leaver forgot to answer.  He had not looked at Charlotte since he had first taken his seat.  Now, with Miss Everett calling his attention to her, and everybody else, including the subject of their interest, absorbed in their own affairs, he let his eyes rest lingeringly upon her.  He had had only brief glimpses of her since she had come to town, and had seen her at such times always in the summer street-or-garden attire which she constantly wore.  Now he saw her under conditions which vividly brought back to him other scenes.  The white lace gown she wore, with its peculiar cut, like the spreading of flower petals about the beautifully modeled shoulders—­it struck him as familiar.  Had she worn any jewels upon that white neck when he had seen her?  He thought not.  He had never known her to wear ornament of any sort, he was sure.  She needed none, he was equally sure of that.  As she sat, with her head turned toward Arthur Chester, who was expounding with great elaboration something which called for maps upon the tablecloth drawn with a rapidly moving finger, she was showing to the observers across the table a face and head in profile, an outline which had been burned into the memory of the man who now regarded it and forgot to make answer.

Miss Everett glanced at him curiously.  Then she murmured:  “Don’t you think the leaving off of all ornaments is sometimes just as much a coquetry as the wearing of them would be?  It certainly challenges notice even more, doesn’t it?”

“It depends on whether one happens to possess them, I should say,” Leaver returned.

“About their drawing attention, or their absence drawing it?  I suppose so.  But when you don’t know which it is, but judge by the richness of the gown that the wearer can afford them—­”

“I’m no judge of the richness of a gown.”

“I am, then.  That is the most wonderful lace—­anybody can see—­at least any woman.”

“Tell me, Miss Everett,”—­Leaver made a determined effort to get away from the personal aspect of the subject,—­“why does a woman love jewels?  For their own sake, or because of their power to adorn her—­if they do adorn her?”

The young woman plunged animatedly into a discussion of the topic as he presented it.  She was wearing certain striking ornaments of pearl and turquoise, which undoubtedly became her fair colouring whether they enhanced her beauty or not.  It was while this discussion was in progress, Leaver forcing himself to attend sufficiently to make intelligent replies, that Charlotte Ruston suddenly turned and looked at him.  He looked straight back at her, a peculiar intentness growing in his deep-set eyes.