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“That is a woman who would help a man—not drag him back.” Then, apparently realising that he had spoken aloud, he added hastily, “Yes, yes, as you say. But who’s the man with the unlucky face?”

His finger indicated a tall thin youth who stood behind the singer. The face was a remarkable one, thin and hawklike, with a high forehead and closely compressed lips. The hair and small moustache were fair and reddish in tint, the eyes grey, with a curious look of aloofness instead of the keenness that would have seemed to accord with the rest of the features.

“That? Why, that’s Colin Ross, Penelope’s brother. What is there unlucky about him?”

“Oh, nothing—merely a look. Her brother, do you say?”

“Yes, her twin brother. But what look do you mean? Oh, you must tell me, Major Keeling, or I shall tell Penelope that you say her brother has an unlucky face.”

“You will do nothing of the kind. Hush! don’t attract their attention. I can’t explain it: I have seen it in several men—not many, fortunately—and it has always meant an early and violent death.”