gardens were finished and done with, and at last the many-colored world
flashed and danced in a mystery before her. This mystery was brilliant to
the convent-girl because it contained men; she was eager to behold it.

They rumbled into town after sunset, in the fair twilight, the dogs
barking before them, and everyone would have been surprised to know that
Tom Vanrevel, instead of Mr. Crailey Gray, was the first to see her. By
the merest accident, Tom was strolling near the Carewe place at the time;
and when the carriage swung into the gates, with rattle and clink and
clouds of dust at the finish, it was not too soon lost behind the
shrubbery and trees for Tom to catch something more than a glimpse of a
gray skirt behind a mound of flowers, and of a charming face with parted
lips and dark eyes beneath the scuttle of an enormous bonnet. It
happened--perhaps it is more accurate to say that Tom thought it happened-
-that she was just clearing away her veil when he turned to look. She
blushed suddenly, so much was not to be mistaken; and the eyes that met
his were remarkable for other reasons than the sheer loveliness of them,
in that, even in the one flash of them he caught, they meant so many
things at one time. They were sparkling, yet mournful; and they were
wistful, although undeniably lively with the gayest comprehension of the
recipient of their glance, seeming to say, "Oh, it's you, young man, is
it!" And they were shy and mysterious with youth, full of that wonder at
the world which has the appearance, sometimes, of wisdom gathered in the
unknown out of which we came. But, above all, these eyes were fully
conscious of Tom Vanrevel.

Without realizing what he did, Mr. Vanrevel stopped short. He had been
swinging a walkingstick, which, describing a brief arc, remained poised
half-way in its descent. There was only that one glance between them; and
the carriage disappeared, leaving a scent of spring flowers in the air.