He knew what it meant. He was
thoroughly aware that he was a man of extraordinary magnetism, and he
had seen his power over a great many women. Ordinarily, to a man so
sated with easy success as Harold Dartmouth, the certainty of conquest
would have strangled the fancy, but there was something about this
girl which awakened in him an interest he did not pretend to define,
except that he found her more beautiful, and believed her to be
more original, than other women. He was anxious to have a longer
conversation with her, and ascertain whether or not he was correct in
his latter supposition. He did not want to marry, and she was too
good to flirt with, but platonics were left. And platonics with Miss
Penrhyn suggested variety.
He also made another discovery. Someone played an interminable piece
of classic music. During its recital it was not possible for Miss
Penrhyn to talk with the men about her, and as the animation faded
from her face, he noticed the same preoccupied look overspread it
which had characterized it the night she had entered the ball-room at
the Legation.
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