Last, he had met Evelyn, as well endowed with physical charm as either;
and there was no doubt that the effect she had on him was different
again. It was one that was difficult to analyze, though he lazily tried.
She appealed to him by the grace of her carriage, the poise of her head,
her delicate coloring, and the changing lights in her eyes; but behind
these points there was something stronger and deeper expressed through
them. He fancied that she possessed qualities he had not hitherto
encountered, which would become more precious when they were fully
understood. He thought of her as steadfast and wholesome in mind; one who
sought for the best; but beyond this there was an ethereal something that
could not be defined. Then a simile struck him: she was like the snow
that towered high into the empyrean in British Columbia. In this,
however, he was wrong, for there was warm human passion in the girl,
though as yet it was sleeping.

He realized suddenly that he was getting absurdly sentimental, and
instinctively he fumbled for his pipe, then stopped. Evelyn noticed this
and smiled.

"You needn't hesitate. The Dene is redolent of cigars, and Gerald smokes
everywhere when he is at home."

"Is he likely to turn up?" Vane asked. "It's ever so long since I've
seen him."

"I'm afraid not. In fact, Gerald's rather under a cloud just now. I
may as well tell you this, because you are sure to hear of it sooner
or later. He has been extravagant and, so he assures us,
extraordinarily unlucky."