The Rainbow

Afterwards he glowed with pleasure. By Jove, but that was

something like! He [stayed the afternoon with the girl, and]

wanted to stay the night. She, however, told him this was impossible:

her own man would be back by dark, and she must be with him.

He, Brangwen, must not let on that there had been anything

between them.

She gave him an intimate smile, which made him feel confused

and gratified.

He could not tear himself away, though he had promised not to

interfere with the girl. He stayed on at the hotel over night.

He saw the other fellow at the evening meal: a small,

middle-aged man with iron-grey hair and a curious face, like a

monkey's, but interesting, in its way almost beautiful. Brangwen

guessed that he was a foreigner. He was in company with another,

an Englishman, dry and hard. The four sat at table, two men and

two women. Brangwen watched with all his eyes.

He saw how the foreigner treated the women with courteous

contempt, as if they were pleasing animals. Brangwen's girl had

put on a ladylike manner, but her voice betrayed her. She wanted

to win back her man. When dessert came on, however, the little

foreigner turned round from his table and calmly surveyed the

room, like one unoccupied. Brangwen marvelled over the cold,

animal intelligence of the face. The brown eyes were round,

showing all the brown pupil, like a monkey's, and just calmly

looking, perceiving the other person without referring to him at

all. They rested on Brangwen. The latter marvelled at the old

face turned round on him, looking at him without considering it

necessary to know him at all. The eyebrows of the round,

perceiving, but unconcerned eyes were rather high up, with

slight wrinkles above them, just as a monkey's had. It was an

old, ageless face.

The man was most amazingly a gentleman all the time, an

aristocrat. Brangwen stared fascinated. The girl was pushing her

crumbs about on the cloth, uneasily, flushed and angry.

As Brangwen sat motionless in the hall afterwards, too much

moved and lost to know what to do, the little stranger came up

to him with a beautiful smile and manner, offering a cigarette

and saying: "Will you smoke?"

Brangwen never smoked cigarettes, yet he took the one

offered, fumbling painfully with thick fingers, blushing to the

roots of his hair. Then he looked with his warm blue eyes at the

almost sardonic, lidded eyes of the foreigner. The latter sat

down beside him, and they began to talk, chiefly of horses.

Brangwen loved the other man for his exquisite graciousness,

for his tact and reserve, and for his ageless, monkey-like

self-surety. They talked of horses, and of Derbyshire, and of

farming. The stranger warmed to the young fellow with real

warmth, and Brangwen was excited. He was transported at meeting

this odd, middle-aged, dry-skinned man, personally. The talk was

pleasant, but that did not matter so much. It was the gracious

manner, the fine contact that was all.