THE TWO FACES
"That's just it; and sometimes you don't see them."
"Do you mean ever because of you?" she asked as she touched into place a tendril of hair. "That's just his impertinence, as to which I shall speak to him."
"Don't," said Shirley Sutton. "Never notice anything."
"That's nice advice from you," she laughed, "who notice everything!"
"Ah, but I speak of nothing."
She looked at him a moment. "You're still more impertinent than Bates. You'll please not budge," she went on.
"Really? I must sit him out?" he continued as, after a minute, she had not again spoken—only glancing about, while she changed her place, partly for another look at the glass and partly to see if she could improve her seat. What she felt was rather more than, clever and charming though she was, she could hide. "If you're wondering how you seem, I can tell you. Awfully cool and easy."
She gave him another stare. She was beautiful and conscious. "And if you're wondering how you seem———"
"Oh, I'm not!" he laughed from before the fire; "I always perfectly know."
"How you seem," she retorted, "is as if you didn't!"
Once more for a little he watched her. "You're looking lovely for him—extraordinarily lovely, within the marked limits of your range. But that's enough. Don't be clever."
"Then who will be?"
"There you are!" he sighed with amusement.
"Do you know him?" she asked as, through the door left open by Bates, they heard steps on the landing.
Sutton had to think an instant, and produced a
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