little circle of swansdown--heightened, by all the force of contrast, the
dazzling fairness of her hair and her complexion. It was only when she
turned aside from him to the glass, and, taking out the brooch that she
wore, put his New Year's gift in its place, that Vendale's attention
wandered far enough away from her to discover the presence of other
persons in the room. He now became conscious that the hands of
Obenreizer were affectionately in possession of his elbows. He now heard
the voice of Obenreizer thanking him for his attention to Marguerite,
with the faintest possible ring of mockery in its tone. ("Such a simple
present, dear sir! and showing such nice tact!") He now discovered, for
the first time, that there was one other guest, and but one, besides
himself, whom Obenreizer presented as a compatriot and friend. The
friend's face was mouldy, and the friend's figure was fat. His age was
suggestive of the autumnal period of human life. In the course of the
evening he developed two extraordinary capacities. One was a capacity
for silence; the other was a capacity for emptying bottles.

Madame Dor was not in the room. Neither was there any visible place
reserved for her when they sat down to table. Obenreizer explained that
it was "the good Dor's simple habit to dine always in the middle of the
day. She would make her excuses later in the evening." Vendale wondered
whether the good Dor had, on this occasion, varied her domestic
employment from cleaning Obenreizer's gloves to cooking Obenreizer's
dinner. This at least was certain--the dishes served were, one and all,
as achievements in cookery, high above the reach of the rude elementary
art of England. The dinner was unobtrusively perfect. As for the wine,
the eyes of the speechless friend rolled over it, as in solemn ecstasy.
Sometimes he said "Good!" when a bottle came in full; and sometimes he
said "Ah!" when a bottle went out empty--and there his contributions to
the gaiety of the evening ended.