Angela blushed very much at this unqualified praise, and, putting it and the exclamation her appearance had that morning wrung from Arthur together, she suddenly came to the conclusion—­for, odd as it may seem, she had never before taken the matter into serious consideration —­that she must be very good-looking, a conclusion that made her feel extremely happy, she could not quite tell why.

It was whilst she was thus blushing and looking her happiest and loveliest that George, returning from his walk, chanced to look in at the window and see her, and, gradually drawn by the attraction of her beauty, his eyes fixed themselves intently upon her, and his coarse features grew instinct with a mixture of hungry wickedness and delighted astonishment.  It was thus that Arthur and Lady Bellamy saw him.  Philip, who was looking at a picture in the corner of the room, did not see him; nor, indeed, did Angela.  The look was unmistakable, and once more the dark frown settled upon Lady Bellamy’s brow, and the expanding pupils filled the heavy-lidded eyes.  As for Arthur, it made him feel sick with unreasonable alarm.

Next minute George entered the room with a stupid smile upon his face, and looking as dazed as a bat that has suddenly been shown the sun.  Angela’s heaven-lit beauty had come upon his gross mind as a revelation; it fascinated him, he had lost his command over himself.

“Oh! here you are at last, George,” said Lady Bellamy—­it was always her habit to call him George.  “We have all been like sheep without a shepherd, though I saw you keeping an eye on the flock through the window.”

George started.  He did not know that he had been observed.

“I did not know that you were all here, or I would have been back sooner,” he said, and then began to shake hands.

When he came to Angela, he favoured her with a tender pressure of the fingers and an elaborate and high-flown speech of welcome, both of which were inexpressibly disagreeable to her.  But here Lady Bellamy intervened, and skilfully forced him into a conversation with her, in which Philip joined.

“What does Lady Bellamy remind you of?” Angela asked Arthur, as soon as the hum of talk made it improbable that they would be overheard.

“Of an Egyptian sorceress, I think.  Look at the low, broad forehead, the curling hair, the full lips, and the inscrutable look of the face.”

“To my mind she is an ideal of the Spirit of Power.  I am very much afraid of her, and, as for him”—­nodding towards George—­“I dislike him even more than I was prepared to,” and she gave a little shudder.  “By the way, Mr. Heigham, you really must not be so rash as to accept my father’s invitation.”

“If you do not wish to see me, of course I will not,” he answered, in a hurt and disappointed tone.

“Oh! it is not that, indeed; how could you think so, when only this morning we agreed to be friends?”