Peel-Swynnerton jumped up brusquely,
dropping the paper with a rustle, and approached her.
"Excuse me," he said deferentially. "Have any letters come for me
to-night?"
He knew that the arrival of letters for him was impossible, since
nobody knew his address.
"What name?" The question was coldly polite, and the questioner
looked him full in the face. Undoubtedly she was a handsome woman.
Her hair was greying at the temples, and the skin was withered and
crossed with lines. But she was handsome. She was one of those
women of whom to their last on earth the stranger will say: "When
she was young she must have been worth looking at!"--with a little
transient regret that beautiful young women cannot remain for ever
young. Her voice was firm and even, sweet in tone, and yet morally
harsh from incessant traffic--with all varieties of human nature.
Her eyes were the impartial eyes of one who is always judging. And
evidently she was a proud, even a haughty creature, with her
careful, controlled politeness. Evidently she considered herself
superior to no matter what guest. Her eyes announced that she had
lived and learnt, that she knew more about life than any one whom
she was likely to meet, and that having pre-eminently succeeded in
life, she had tremendous confidence in herself.
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