Explore "The Yellow Face" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was perhaps fortunate for Jack that Lord Barmouth appeared to be engrossed in his own painful thoughts. At any rate he did not seem to notice that his youthful visitor's gaze was fixed so intently upon the photograph. So far as Jack could see, the picture had been taken some years before, and had not that wild, defiant, yet half-sad expression which marked Serena to-day. There was not much time to think, but Jack rapidly made up his mind. He would say nothing to Barmouth of his discovery, but would open up the matter as delicately as possible with Lady Barmouth. It was not a nice thing for a comparative stranger to intrude upon sacred griefs like this, but the discovery was so likely to lead to important results that it would have been folly to hesitate. It was some considerable time later before Jack left Lord Barmouth, who shook him warmly by the hand, and implored him to come again.
"You can imagine what a lonely life mine is," Barmouth murmured; "my wife is devotion itself, but one longs for the company of a man sometimes."