When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her, “forty at the ‘Unusual,’ two turns, encores voluntary, six for matinées. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. She looked around her.
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