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In
honour
of
the
double
betrothal
Effie
and
Miss
Viner
were
to
appear
that
evening
at
dinner
;
and
Darrow
,
on
leaving
his
room
,
met
the
little
girl
springing
down
the
stairs
,
her
white
ruffles
and
coral
-
coloured
bows
making
her
look
like
a
daisy
with
her
yellow
hair
for
its
centre
.
Sophy
Viner
was
behind
her
pupil
,
and
as
she
came
into
the
light
Darrow
noticed
a
change
in
her
appearance
and
wondered
vaguely
why
she
looked
suddenly
younger
,
more
vivid
,
more
like
the
little
luminous
ghost
of
his
Paris
memories
.
Then
it
occurred
to
him
that
it
was
the
first
time
she
had
appeared
at
dinner
since
his
arrival
at
Givre
,
and
the
first
time
,
consequently
,
that
he
had
seen
her
in
evening
dress
.
She
was
still
at
the
age
when
the
least
adornment
embellishes
;
and
no
doubt
the
mere
uncovering
of
her
young
throat
and
neck
had
given
her
back
her
former
brightness
.
But
a
second
glance
showed
a
more
precise
reason
for
his
impression
.
Vaguely
though
he
retained
such
details
,
he
felt
sure
she
was
wearing
the
dress
he
had
seen
her
in
every
evening
in
Paris
.
It
was
a
simple
enough
dress
,
black
,
and
transparent
on
the
arms
and
shoulders
,
and
he
would
probably
not
have
recognized
it
if
she
had
not
called
his
attention
to
it
in
Paris
by
confessing
that
she
hadn
’
t
any
other
.
“
The
same
dress
?
That
proves
that
she
’
s
forgotten
!
”
was
his
first
half
-
ironic
thought
;
but
the
next
moment
,
with
a
pang
of
compunction
,
he
said
to
himself
that
she
had
probably
put
it
on
for
the
same
reason
as
before
:
simply
because
she
hadn
’
t
any
other
.
He
looked
at
her
in
silence
,
and
for
an
instant
,
above
Effie
’
s
bobbing
head
,
she
gave
him
back
his
look
in
a
full
bright
gaze
.
“
Oh
,
there
’
s
Owen
!
”
Effie
cried
,
and
whirled
away
down
the
gallery
to
the
door
from
which
her
step
-
brother
was
emerging
.
As
Owen
bent
to
catch
her
,
Sophy
Viner
turned
abruptly
back
to
Darrow
.
“
You
,
too
?
”
she
said
with
a
quick
laugh
.
“
I
didn
’
t
know
—
—
”
And
as
Owen
came
up
to
them
she
added
,
in
a
tone
that
might
have
been
meant
to
reach
his
ear
:
“
I
wish
you
all
the
luck
that
we
can
spare
!
”
About
the
dinner
-
table
,
which
Effie
,
with
Miss
Viner
’
s
aid
,
had
lavishly
garlanded
,
the
little
party
had
an
air
of
somewhat
self
-
conscious
festivity
.
In
spite
of
flowers
,
champagne
and
a
unanimous
attempt
at
ease
,
there
were
frequent
lapses
in
the
talk
,
and
moments
of
nervous
groping
for
new
subjects
.
Miss
Painter
alone
seemed
not
only
unaffected
by
the
general
perturbation
but
as
tightly
sealed
up
in
her
unconsciousness
of
it
as
a
diver
in
his
bell
.
To
Darrow
’
s
strained
attention
even
Owen
’
s
gusts
of
gaiety
seemed
to
betray
an
inward
sense
of
insecurity
.
After
dinner
,
however
,
at
the
piano
,
he
broke
into
a
mood
of
extravagant
hilarity
and
flooded
the
room
with
the
splash
and
ripple
of
his
music
.
Darrow
,
sunk
in
a
sofa
corner
in
the
lee
of
Miss
Painter
’
s
granite
bulk
,
smoked
and
listened
in
silence
,
his
eyes
moving
from
one
figure
to
another
.
Madame
de
Chantelle
,
in
her
armchair
near
the
fire
,
clasped
her
little
granddaughter
to
her
with
the
gesture
of
a
drawing
-
room
Niobe
,
and
Anna
,
seated
near
them
,
had
fallen
into
one
of
the
attitudes
of
vivid
calm
which
seemed
to
Darrow
to
express
her
inmost
quality
.
Sophy
Viner
,
after
moving
uncertainly
about
the
room
,
had
placed
herself
beyond
Mrs
.
Leath
,
in
a
chair
near
the
piano
,
where
she
sat
with
head
thrown
back
and
eyes
attached
to
the
musician
,
in
the
same
rapt
fixity
of
attention
with
which
she
had
followed
the
players
at
the
Français
.
The
accident
of
her
having
fallen
into
the
same
attitude
,
and
of
her
wearing
the
same
dress
,
gave
Darrow
,
as
he
watched
her
,
a
strange
sense
of
double
consciousness
.
To
escape
from
it
,
his
glance
turned
back
to
Anna
;
but
from
the
point
at
which
he
was
placed
his
eyes
could
not
take
in
the
one
face
without
the
other
,
and
that
renewed
the
disturbing
duality
of
the
impression
.
Suddenly
Owen
broke
off
with
a
crash
of
chords
and
jumped
to
his
feet
.
“
What
’
s
the
use
of
this
,
with
such
a
moon
to
say
it
for
us
?
”
Behind
the
uncurtained
window
a
low
golden
orb
hung
like
a
ripe
fruit
against
the
glass
.
