He found a good place--a charming place; a little sofa that seemed
meant only for two persons. The rooms by this time were very full;
the dancers increased in number, and people stood close in front of
them, turning their backs, so that Catherine and her companion seemed
secluded and unobserved. "WE will talk," the young man had said; but
he still did all the talking. Catherine leaned back in her place,
with her eyes fixed upon him, smiling and thinking him very clever.
He had features like young men in pictures; Catherine had never seen
such features--so delicate, so chiselled and finished--among the
young New Yorkers whom she passed in the streets and met at parties.
He was tall and slim, but he looked extremely strong. Catherine
thought he looked like a statue. But a statue would not talk like
that, and, above all, would not have eyes of so rare a colour. He
had never been at Mrs. Almond's before; he felt very much like a
stranger; and it was very kind of Catherine to take pity on him. He
was Arthur Townsend's cousin--not very near; several times removed--
and Arthur had brought him to present him to the family. In fact, he
was a great stranger in New York. It was his native place; but he
had not been there for many years. He had been knocking about the
world, and living in far-away lands; he had only come back a month or
two before. New York was very pleasant, only he felt lonely.

"You see, people forget you," he said, smiling at Catherine with his
delightful gaze, while he leaned forward obliquely, turning towards
her, with his elbows on his knees.

It seemed to Catherine that no one who had once seen him would ever
forget him; but though she made this reflexion she kept it to
herself, almost as you would keep something precious.