detecting nationalities, but I found it difficult, even after I heard her
speak, to guess at Mrs. Falchion's native land. There were good reasons
for this, as may be duly seen. Her appearance in the saloon caused an
instant buzz of admiration and interest, of which she seemed oblivious.
If it was acting, it was good acting; if it was lack of self-
consciousness, it was remarkable. As I soon came to know, it was the
latter--which, in such a woman, increased the remarkableness. I was
inclined at first to venture the opinion that she was an actress; but I
discovered that she possessed the attracting power of an actress without
the calculated manner of one; her very lack of self-consciousness was
proof of this emancipation.

When she sat down, I immediately welcomed her by name to my table.
The only surprise she showed at my knowledge of her name and my self-
introduction was to lift her head slightly and look at me, as if
wondering whether I was likely to be an inquisitive and troublesome host;
and also, as I thought, to measure me according to her measure. It was a
quick look, and the interest she showed was of a passive kind. She asked
me as she might an old acquaintance--or a waiter--if the soup was good,
and what the fish was like; decided on my recommendation to wait for the
entrees; requested her next neighbour to pass the olives; in an
impersonal way began to talk about the disadvantages of life at sea;
regretted that all ship food tasted alike; wondered if the cook knew how
to make a Russian salad; and added that the menu was a national
compromise.

Now that she was close to me, I could see that her beauty was real and
notable. Her features were regular, her eyes of a greyish violet, her
chin strong, yet not too strong--the chin of a singer; her hands had that
charming quiet certainty of movement possessed by so few; and her colour