come for their sensation. Our guests at last, I believe. Don't forget
what I have been saying to you, Virginia."



CHAPTER IV


A MEETING OF GIANTS

Phineas Duge, if his manners preserved still that sense of restraint
which seemed part of the man himself, still made an excellent host. He
sat at the head of his table, a distinguished, almost handsome
personality, his grey hair accurately parted, every detail of his
toilette in exact accordance with the fashions of the moment, his eyes
everywhere, his tongue seldom silent.

Virginia watched him more than once from her seat, in half-unwilling
admiration. She was ashamed to admit that her personal enthusiasm for
him had in any way abated, and yet she was becoming conscious of that
absolute lack of any real cordiality, of any evidence of affection in
his demeanour towards her and every one else with whom he was brought
into contact. She knew very well what the world's account of him was,
for in the old days they had read sketches of his career up in the
little farmhouse amongst the mountains. They had read of his indomitable
will, of his absolute heartlessness, the stern, persistent individuality
which climbs and climbs, heedless of those who must fall by the way.
Perhaps he was really like this. Perhaps her first impressions had been
wrong. Then, with a sudden wave of shame, she remembered the joyous,
affectionate letters which every post brought her from the home, which