The heir Grayson Holloway was looking at his profile in the glass. The sight was pleasing to him, so much so he lingered a considerable time before he laid the mirror back onto the dressing table unaware of the ladies lingering stare.
Across the room Evelyn inspected the man of about twenty-five years of age, with a high forehead and magnificent charcoal-black hair, that was apt to curl slightly at the temples. The nose was straight, the mouth plump and narrow, he had been told numerous times that night that his deep-set eyes could be in turn humorous, dangerous and inspired. He was tall, broad shouldered; he carried his head a little to one side, and his chin was tilted in the air.
To some this was his fascination, this inquisitive conceited angle of the head; to others it was the rich tones of his ever changing voice, the strong hands, the slow domineering walk that was the secret of his tremendous attraction.
Yet all of these were nothing compared to his charm of manner, his wit, his talent for making the shyest person feel at ease.
Women adored him; he was so broad-minded, so tolerant, so understanding. He gave the impression that he understood them far better than they knew themselves. Besides, he was always so delightfully intimate. Men found him a surprisingly good companion; his wine was immaculate; he never talked about talked about his substantial amount of wealth, and he had a handful of amusing stories. It was all these qualities that made him the most popular and riches man in London.
Everyone agreed that 'Grey' Holloway was the perfect host. Here one was sure to find a crowd of well-known people: a leading politician, a couple of famous actresses and models, a rising young artist, and of course a sprinkle of titles.
