Not only on her own account, but on that of the Marquess, Celia
regretted keenly the advent of Lord and Lady Heyton at the Hall. Of the
man, Celia had formed a most unfavourable opinion, and she could not but
see that his wife, beautiful as she was, was shallow, vain, and
unreliable, the kind of woman who would always act on impulse, whether
it were a good or evil one. Such a woman is more dangerous than a
deliberately wicked and absolutely heartless one.

The coming of these two persons had broken up the quiet and serenity of
the great house; she felt sorry for the Marquess, who had been forced
almost into an open quarrel with his son on this first night; and she
felt sorry for herself; for she had taken an instinctive dislike to Lord
Heyton, and knew that she would have hard work to avoid him. There are
men whose look, when it is bent upon a woman, is an insult; the touch of
whose hand is a contamination; and Celia felt that Lord Heyton was one
of these men. She shut herself up in the library the next morning, and
though she heard him in the hall, and was afflicted by the pungent
cigarette, which was rarely out of his lips, he did not intrude on her;
but as she was passing through the hall, on her way for a walk, she met
him coming out of the smoking-room. His was a well-groomed figure, and
save for the weak and sensuous lips, and the prominent eyes with the
curious expression, he was, physically, by no means a bad specimen of a
young man; but Celia was acutely conscious of the feeling of repulsion,
and she quickened her pace. With his hands still in his pockets, he
almost intercepted her.