S|.54em}}O that,” said the young Frenchman, nodding across the ball-room, “that is the Fenton Villiers, I suppose.”
His tone, despite the casual movement, suggested interest, his emphasis on the article a certain ultra superiority in the person indicated that caused his companion to turn and glance at him with some Surprise.
“Yes, that's Villiers,” he assented. “My nephew, you know; but 'pon my word I didn't realize that he was so famous as to have 'the' tacked on to his name. You're a stranger in this country, Captain Rochefort. What do you know about the Fenton Villiers?”
“Well, for one thing, that he is your nephew,” the Frenchman returned with a smile and a little bow; “and for another, that he is a second lieutenant in his majesty's navy. Finally, that he is a young officer of great promise. I am not mistaken, I think, when I say that your government is at present considering plans of his that may bring about a complete revolution in the matter of aérial warfare?”
“Well, I should like to know how you knew that!” Admiral Raeburn exclaimed bluffly. “You're not a spy, Captain Rochefort, I hope?”
He glanced laughingly at the man beside him; and Rochefort smiled. Immediately afterward his narrow, rather white face became expressionless. Like his immaculate clothes, the whole manner of the man seemed a mask assumed either to conceal too much or too little.
“Scarcely, admiral. I have not the ability or the energy for that sort of thing. But rumors float very easily in this gossiping generation. By the way, Mr. Villiers is married, I understand?”
Admiral Raeburn chuckled.
“Really, I ought to come to you for information about my nephew,” he said good-naturedly. “Yes, he is married—has been for the last three years. That's his wife over there, dancing with that tall naval fellow. Daughter of Sir Richard Sinclair—as I suppose you know.”
“Wealth as well as beauty and all the virtues, eh?”
Something in the Frenchman's tone caused Raeburn a passing annoyance, and he made no response. Captain Rochefort adjusted his eyeglass for a closer scrutiny of the young couple, who at that moment drifted past to the slow measure of a waltz.
“Yes, very beautiful and very young,” he murmured. “Quite a child, in fact. One could build all sorts of romances with her face in mind. She loves life, does she not? One can see that in every movement.”
“You see a great many things, captain,” Raeburn retorted tartly.
“I have learned to read faces,” Rochefort explained, with a return of his fleeting, enigmatic smile. “They interest me almost as much as aëroplanes. Now there is the officer with whom Madame Villiers is dancing—he interests me very much. Strength and weakness, eh? Strength in the jaw and weakness in the mouth—a very common phenomenon. In temptation he would probably yield, but he can also be ruthlessly determined. I wonder if my diagnosis is justified?”
Raeburn snorted.
“Lieutenant Delisle will no doubt be delighted to give you all information,” he said sarcastically. Being a sailor of the old school, he disliked astuteness, and he labored under the uncomfortable conviction that his companion was, in some subtle way, playing a game with him.
“So that is Oscar Delisle!” Rochefort observed, apparently with increased interest.
“Yes, but there is no earthly reason why you should know anything about him,” Raeburn retorted. “Delisle has invented nothing that I know of.”
“I happen to know something of his family,” the Frenchman explained.
The conversation dropped. On the other side of the ballroom, Fenton Villiers, unconscious that he was under observation, in his turn watched the two dancers, who, as if overtaken by a gay exhaustion, at length passed into a flower-screened alcove and disappeared. The young officer's strong, lean-jawed face, hitherto overcast and preoccupied, lit up with a moment's pleasure. Whatever his thoughts had been, it was clear that the two young and handsome figures had changed their direction, for he half smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if throwing off an irritating burden.
The next minute he became aware that he was being observed by the white-faced man across the room. The realization that this stranger had been a witness of his change of expression irritated him. He returned the stare, and a moment later the man sauntered across the floor, piloting his way through the desultory couples of dancers with an assured ease.