Manslaughter

								

day; but still, once a home wrecker always a home wrecker. He was still
stimulating. The last time she had talked to him he had called her a
sleek black panther. That always pleases, of course. Since then Fanny
Piers, a notable mischief-maker, had repeated something else he said. He
had called her a futile barbarian. She disliked the "futile." She would
take it up with him; that would amuse her if everything else failed. She
would say, "Hello, Mr. Gore! I suppose you hardly expected to meet a
barbarian at dinner--especially a futile one." It would make Fanny
wretched, but then if Fanny would repeat things she must expect to get
into trouble.
And then, of course, there was Eleanor's new best bet--the intensely
interesting and absolutely worthwhile young man. Lydia looked about, and
there he was. Dear me, she thought, he certainly was interesting and
worth while, but not quite from the point of view Eleanor had
suggested--public service and political power. He was very nice looking,
tall and heavy in the shoulders. He was turned three-quarters from her
as she made her diagnosis. She could see little more than his mere size,
the dark healthy brown of a sunburned Anglo-Saxon skin, and the deep
point at the back of his neck where short thick hair grew in a deep
point. Eleanor, looking small beside him, was staring idly before her,
not attempting to show him off. There was nothing cheap about Eleanor.
She spoke to him now, preparing to introduce him to her friend. Lydia
saw him turn, and their eyes met--the queerest eyes she had ever seen.
She found herself staring into them longer than good manners allowed;
not that Lydia cared much about good manners, but she did not wish to
give the man the idea she had fallen in love with him at first sight;
only it just happened that she had never seen eyes before that flared
like torches, grew dark and light and small and large like a cat's, only
they weren't the color of a cat's, being gray--a pure light gray in
contrast with his dark hair and skin. There was a contrast in expression
too. They were a little mad, at least fanatical, whereas his mouth was
controlled and legal and humorus. What was it Bobby had said about him
in college--a wild man? She could well believe it. During these few
seconds Eleanor was introducing him, and she was casting about for
something to say to him. That was the trouble with meeting new
people--it was so much easier to chatter to old friends. Benny said that
was provincial. She made a great effort.
"How are you?"--this quite in the Ilseboro manner. "Are you staying near
here?"
You might have counted one-two before he betrayed the least sign of
having heard her. Then he said, "Yes, I live about ten miles from here."
"Oh, of course! You're a judge or something like that, aren't you?"
Was the man a little deaf?
"Something like that."
She noted that trick of pausing a second or two before answering.