"
Thus urged, Seagreave sat down. He was tall and slight and fair, so very
fair that his age was difficult to guess. His hair, with a silvery sheen
on it, swept in a wing across his forehead, and he had a habit of
pushing it back from his brow; his eyes were of a vivid blue, peculiarly
luminous, and his features, which were regular, showed a fine finish of
modeling. His age, as has been said, was a matter of conjecture, but
judging from his appearance he might have been anywhere from twenty to
forty.
"Don't let me interrupt your game," he said. "It is early yet, and if
Miss Gallito isn't too tired, and if she will let me, I will talk to her
while you play."
Jose smiled to himself and picked up the cards. The game went on.
Seagreave, receiving no encouragement from Pearl, made no attempt at
conversation, until at last, stirred by some impulse of curiosity, she
lifted her eyes. It was this question of age she wished to decide. In
that first, quick glance of hers she had taken it for granted that he
was twenty, but in a second stolen look she had noted certain lines
about the mouth and eyes which added years to his blonde youthfulness.
Then her quick ear had caught Jose's "Saint Harry," and to her, who knew
many men, those lines about mouth and eyes did not suggest a past of
saintship.
Her surreptitious glance encountered that of Seagreave, for he, too, had
withdrawn his eyes from the fire for a moment to let his puzzled gaze
rest upon her.
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