III

For some time during Winnie's narrative glimmerings of the

gentleman's identity had been coming to me, and what she said of the

voice seemed to be turning these glimmerings into shafts of light. I

was now in a state of the greatest impatience to verify my surmise.

But this only gave a sharper edge to my intense curiosity as to

_how_ she had been rescued by him.

'Winnie,' I said, 'you have said nothing about his appearance. Could

you describe his face?'

'Describe his face?' said Winnie. 'If I were a painter I could paint

it from memory. But who can paint a face in words?'

Then she launched into a description of the gentleman's appearance,

and gave me a specimen of that 'objective' power which used to amaze

me as a child but which I afterwards found was a speciality of the

girls of Wales.

'I should like a description of him feature by feature,' I said.

She laughed, and said, 'I suppose I must begin with his forehead

then. It was almost of the tone of marble, and contrasted, but not

too violently, with the thin crop of dark hair slightly curling round

the temples, which were partly bald. The forehead in its form was so

perfect that it seemed to shed its own beauty over all the other

features; it prevented me from noticing, as I afterwards did, that

these other features--the features below the eyes, were not in

themselves beautiful. The eyes, which looked at me through

spectacles, were of a colour between hazel and blue-grey, but there

were lights shining within them which were neither grey, nor hazel,

nor blue--wonderful lights. And it was to these indescribable lights,

moving and alive in the deeps of the pupils, that his face owed its

extraordinary attractiveness. Have I sufficiently described him? or

am I to go on taking his face to pieces for you?'

'Go on, Winnie--pray go on.'

'Well, then, between the eyes, across the top of the nose, where the

bridge of the spectacles rested, there was a strongly marked indented

line which had the appearance of having been made by long-continued

pressure of the spectacle frame. Am I still to go on?'

'Yes, yes.'

'The beauty of the face, as I said before, was entirely confined to

the upper portion. It did not extend lower than the cheek-bones,

which were well shaped.'

'The mouth, Winnie? Describe that, and then I need not ask you his

name, though perhaps you don't know it yourself.'

'A dark brown moustache covered the mouth. I have always thought that

a mouth is unattractive if the lips are so close to the teeth that

they seem to stick to them; and yet what a kind woman Mrs. Shales is,

and her mouth is of this kind. But, on the other hand, where the

space between the teeth and the lips is too great no mouth can be

called beautiful, I think. Now though the mouth of the gentleman was

not ill-cut, the lips were too far from the teeth, I thought; they

were too loose, a little baggy, in short. And when he laughed--'

'What about that, Winnie? I specially want to know about his laugh.'

'Then I will tell you. When he laughed his teeth were a little too

much seen; and this gave the mouth a somewhat satirical expression.'

'Winnie,' I said, 'there is no need now for you to tell me the name

of the gentleman. In a few sentences you have described him better

than I could have done in a hundred.'

'And certainly there is no reason why I should not tell you his

name,' she said, laughing, 'for if there is a word that is musical in

my ears, it is the name of him whose voice is music--D'Arcy. When he

told me that I should know everything in time, and that there was

nothing for me to know except that which would give me comfort, and

said, "You confide in me!" I could only answer, "Who would not

confide in you? I will wait patiently until you tell me what you have

to tell." "Then," said he, "the best thing you can do is to lie down

for an hour or two on that divan and rest yourself, and go to sleep

if you can, while I go and attend to certain affairs that need me."

He then left the room. I was glad to be alone, for I was terribly

tired. I felt as though I had been taking violent bodily exercise,

but without feeling the staying power that Snowdon air can give. I

lay down on the divan, and must have fallen asleep immediately. When

I woke I found the same kind face near me, and the same kind eyes

watching me. Mr. D'Arcy told me that I had been sleeping for two

hours, and that it had, he hoped, much refreshed me. He told me also

that he took a constitutional walk every day, and asked me if I would

accompany him. I said, "Yes, I should like to do so." At this moment

there passed the window some railway men leaving some luggage. On

seeing them Mr. D'Arcy said, "I see that I must leave you for a

minute or two to look after a package of canvases that has just come

from my assistant in London," and he left me. When I was left alone I

had an opportunity of observing the room. The walls were covered with

old faded tapestry, so faded indeed that its general effect was that

of a dull grey texture. On looking at it closely I found that it told

the story of Samson. Every piece of furniture seemed to me to be a

rare curiosity.'

'Now, Winnie,' I said, 'I am not going to interrupt you any more. I

want to hear your story as an unbroken narrative.'