The Four Faces | Page 4

the ship together."
"Then he was on board on--let me think--ten days or so ago?"
"Oh, yes."
"It's most singular, this apparent likeness between the two men."
"It is--if they really are alike. When shall you see your man again?"
Osborne inquired.
"I have this moment had a letter from him," Easterton answered. "He
asks me to lunch with him at the Café Royal to-morrow. Look here, I'll
tell you what I'll do--I'll say I'm engaged or somethin', and ask him to
dine here one evenin'. Then if you will both give me the pleasure of
your company, we shall at once find out if your Gastrell and mine are
the same--they can't be the same, of course, as your man was in the
middle of the ocean on the day mine was here in London; I mean we'll
find out if he has a twin brother."
"Have you met his wife?" Jack Osborne inquired carelessly, as he lit a
long cigar.
"Phew! Yes. I should say so. One of the most gloriously beautiful
women I have ever seen in my life. She was on board with him, and I
believe everybody on the ship was head over ears in love with her. I
know I was."
"Ah, that settles it," Easterton said. "My man is a bachelor."
Osborne smiled in a curious way, and blew a cloud of smoke towards

the ceiling without saying anything.
"Why, what is it?" Easterton asked, noticing the smile.
"Oh, nothing. A little thought that crept into my brain, that's all."
"Tell us what your Gastrell's wife is like," Easterton pursued.
"Like? What is she not like! Think of all the most lovely girls and
women you have ever set eyes on, and roll them into one, and still you
won't get the equal of Jasmine Gastrell. What is she like? By heaven,
you might as well ask me to describe the taste of nectar!"
"Dark or fair?"
"Both."
"Oh, nonsense."
"It isn't nonsense, Easterton. She has the strangest eyes--they are really
green, I suppose, but they look quite blue in some lights, and in other
lights deep purple. They are the most extraordinary eyes I have ever
seen; a woman with eyes like that must have tremendous intelligence
and quite exceptional personality. It's useless for me to try to describe
the rest of her face; it's too lovely for anything."
"And her hair?" Easterton asked. "Has she dark hair or fair?"
"Both."
"Ah, Jack, stop rottin'," Easterton exclaimed, laughing. "What is the
colour of the hair of this woman who has so set your heart on end?"
"It may be auburn; it may be chestnut-brown; it may be red for all I
know, but I am hanged if I can say for certain which it is, or if it's only
one colour or all three shades. But whatever it is it's perfectly lovely
hair, and she has any amount of it. I wouldn't mind betting that when
she lets it down it falls quite to her feet and hangs all round her like a
cloak."

"I should like to meet this goddess, Jack," Easterton said, his curiosity
aroused. "Though you are so wedded to hippos, and rhinos, and 'gators
and things, you don't seem entirely to have lost your sense of
appreciation of 'woman beautiful.' Where are she and her husband
staying?"
"I've not the least idea."
"Didn't they tell you their plans?"
"They said nothing whatever about themselves, though I tried once or
twice to draw them out. In that respect they were extraordinarily
reserved. In every other way they were delightful--especially Mrs.
Gastrell, though I was greatly attracted by Gastrell too, when I came to
know him towards the end of the voyage."
CHAPTER II
THE ANGEL FACES
Hugesson Gastrell had accepted Lord Easterton's invitation to dine at
the club, and the three men were seated near the fire as I entered,
Easterton and Jack Osborne on one of the large settees, their visitor
facing them in an arm-chair, with his back to me. I went towards them
across the big room, apologizing for my unpunctuality, for I was nearly
ten minutes late. To my surprise they remained silent; even Easterton
did not rise, or greet me in any way. He looked strangely serious, and
so did Jack, as a rule the cheeriest of mortals.
"I am dreadfully sorry for being so late," I exclaimed, thinking that my
unpunctuality must have given them offence. I was about to invent
some elaborate excuse to account for my "delay," when the man seated
with his back to me suddenly rose, and, turning abruptly, faced me.
I recognized him at once. It was Gastrell, whom I had met at the Hotel
Metropol in Geneva. As he stood there before me, with his back half
turned to