said as in her slow speech and her whole look.  Her skin was so white—­and Killigrew thought he knew if Ishmael did not how that whiteness was attained—­except for a slight pink flush below extravagantly calm eyes of a clear pale grey; the modelling of the face was wide across brow and cheekbones and across the jaw on the level of the too-small mouth; then came a dimpled chin, short and childish, as was the tip-tilted nose.  It was the type of face which, in its broad modelling of planes and petal-fineness of edges, suggests a pansy.  The blondness of her—­ashen-dead fairness of hair and pale skin with those pellucid eyes beneath dust-brown brows—­all united in an effort of innocence that surpassed itself and became the blandness of a doll.  She was curiously immobile, sat very quietly, and moved slowly, graceful in the way that a heavily-built puma is graceful, because of the thoroughly sound construction of her bones and muscles.  Killigrew, as he watched her, was vastly intrigued by what he phrased to himself as the “innocent sweet corruption of her look.”  For with all that dollish look, perhaps because of it, it was possible, so Killigrew thought, to imagine her being very bad with the help of that protective mask.  It was also compatible with an Undine-like soullessness, a cold clearness of outlook, or a slightly heavy if sweet stupidity.  He thought it quite likely she might have all the virtues except a naturally good complexion, but he wondered about her, seeing her charm without feeling it.

The lamp was ready all too soon, and the lucky Carminow had the best right to carry it upstairs for her.  She shook hands with both his friends as she said good-night, and Ishmael noticed how straightly she looked from her equal height into his eyes as her hand lay in his.  Then the door swung to, but without closing, and in a moment there came the low sound of her voice from the landing above.

“Mr. Carminow....” she was saying—­and the words, excepting just now and again, were audible to the two in the sitting-room—­“I hope—­I don’t know what your friends must think.  Do tell them, will you, that I’m not in the habit of running down to your room like that?  Mr. Ruan looks so good.  I wouldn’t like him to think—­”

“No one thinks anything like that; they couldn’t, I assure you.  Do believe me, Miss Grey.  You won’t sleep if you worry, you know.  Promise me to believe me.  I’ll say something to them if it’ll make you any happier.”

“Will you?  Then I’ll promise too.  I can take the lamp now.  And—­thank you, Mr. Carminow.”

Down in the sitting-room when Carminow entered it again there was a moment or two of silence.

“Look here, you two fellows!” said Carminow; then, “You see for yourselves that Miss Grey is a perfect lady....”

“Exactly how I should have described her,” interjected Killigrew.

“What I mean to say is that of course Miss Grey would not have dweamt of coming down if she had known you two were here....”