a man so soon--with such a--an odd--expression----"

He asked, smiling: "What kind of an expression have I, Geraldine?"

"Not a boyish one; entirely a man's eyes and mouth and voice--a little
too wise, as though, deep inside, you were tired of something; no, not
exactly that, but as though you had seen many things and had lived some
of them----"

She checked herself, lips softly apart; and the memory of what she had
heard concerning him returned to her.

Confused, she continued to laugh lightly, adding: "I believe I was
afraid of you at first. Ought I to be, still? You know more than I
do--you know different kinds of things: your face and voice and manner
show it. I feel humble and ignorant in the presence of so distinguished
a European artist."

They were laughing together now without a trace of constraint; and she
was aware that his interest in her was unfeigned and unmistakably the
interest of a man for a woman, that he was looking at her as other men
had now begun to look at her, speaking as other men spoke, frankly
interested in her as a woman, finding her agreeable to look at and talk
to.

In the unawakened depths of her a conviction grew that her old playmate
must be classed with other men--man in the abstract--that indefinite and
interesting term, hinting of pleasures to come and possibilities
unimagined.