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Updated: May 5, 2025
Howard and Marian shrunk together with their heads close in the effort to make sure of concealing their faces. She was suffering for herself, but more acutely for him. She knew, as if she were looking into his mind, his frightful humiliation. "Hereafter," she thought, "whenever any one looks at him he will feel the thought behind the look." "How nearly did I come to him?" asked Saverhill.
He had a subject that suited him perfectly." "No, let us stay," Marian whispered in reply to her husband. "They can't see our faces and I'd like to hear." "Yes, it is superb," came the answer to the man behind them in a voice unmistakably American. "Now, tell me, Saverhill, what sort of a person would you say the ambassador is from that picture? You don't know him?"
"A good, round price if French is not mistaken," replied Saverhill. The two men passed on. Howard and Marian looked guiltily about, then slipped away in the opposite direction. He helped her into the waiting hansom. As they were driven homeward she cast a stealthy side-glance at him. "Yes," she thought, "the portrait is a portrait of his face; and his face is a portrait of himself."
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