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A tall, slightly stooped man, somewhat above thirty, got up cordially to meet Williams.

Mr. Penwenn was something of a polished man, though when out for a pleasurable evening—and he went out frequently—he liked the gaiety to have a good deal of noise. His rather long face was angular, with all the bones showing. The light eyes—a chilling blue—were steady as bits of crockery, and as lifeless. His fingers were long and bony—very long, yet not without a certain grace in their movement.

It was told of him that he never forgave an injury. His grandfather had been a granite-headed Scotchman, and the Scotch blood had come down to him mixed with Spanish. In his dealings with men he was smooth of manner, a little overly gracious at times, yet proud of his inner contempt for them. Socially he presented a smoothly careless aspect, engagingly polite, but somehow ironic except toward women that pleased him. He was fastidious, very careful of his personal appearance, and with a poise that suggested a rather supercilious air when he was not deliberately courteous. His friends knew that he had a weakness for ideas that seemed shrewd; that he liked to be praised, even pretty thickly, and talked about favourably; and that if his vanity was hurt he was implacable.