Mrs. Paige stood looking up at her, trowel hanging loosely in her
gloved hand.

"Did anything--kill it?" she asked carelessly.

"I don't think it ever lived very long. Anyway there is something
missing in the man; something blank in him. A girl's time is
wasted in wondering what is going on behind those adorable eyes of
his. Because there is nothing going on--it's all on the
surface--the charm, the man's engaging ways and manners--all
surface. . . . I thought I'd better tell you, Ailsa."

"There was no necessity," said Ailsa calmly. "We scarcely
exchanged a dozen words."

As she spoke she became aware of a shape behind the veranda
windows, a man's upright figure passing and repassing. And now, at
the open window, it suddenly emerged into full sunlight, a spare,
sinewy, active gentleman of fifty, hair and moustache thickly
white, a deep seam furrowing his forehead from the left ear to the
roots of the hair above the right temple.

The most engaging of smiles parted the young widow's lips.

"Good morning, Captain Lent," she cried gaily. "You have neglected
me dreadfully of late."

The Captain came to a rigid salute.

"April eleventh, eighteen-sixty-one!" he said with clean-cut