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The shadow had wholly disappeared from Sir Dafyd's mouth, a faint smile hovering there instead. As he took his seat the Austrian Ambassador leaned forward and inquired politely about the state of Lady Sionèd's health. "She is sleeping quietly," said Sir Dafyd. The Hon. Harold Dartmouth was bored. He had been in Paris three months and it was his third winter. He was young.
Dinner was announced at the moment, and Mrs. Dartmouth stood up and looked her companion full in the eyes. "I do not like Sionèd," she said, harshly. "She, too, is poetical." For a moment there was a suspicion of color in Sir Dafyd's pale face, and the shadow on his mouth seemed to take shape and form.
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