through the window--lovely with that particular and specific kind of
loveliness which Ben thought of when he used the word--_his_ kind. He
used to wonder afterward how he had known it at that first glimpse,
for, in the dim light of the piazza, he could not see some of her
greatest beauties--the whiteness of her skin, white as milk where her
close, fine, brown hair began, or the blue of the eyes set at an angle
which might have seemed Oriental in eyes less enchanting turquoise in
color. But he could see her slenderness and grace. She was dressed in
clinging blues and greens and she wore a silver turban. She leaned her
hands on the railings--she turned them out along the railings; they
were slender and full of character--not soft. Ben looked at the one
nearest him. With hardly more than a turn of his head he could have
kissed it. The idea appealed to him strongly; he played with it, just
as when he was a child in a college town he had played with the idea
of getting up in church and walking about on the backs of the pews.
This would be pleasanter, and the subsequent getaway even easier. He
glanced at the dark lawn behind him; there appeared to be no obstacle
to escape.

Perhaps, under the spell of her attraction for him, and the knowledge
that he would never see her again, he might actually have done it, but
she broke the trance by speaking to a tall, stolid young man who was
with her.

"No, Eddie," she said, as if answering something he had said some time
ago, "I really was at home, at just the time I said, only this new
butler does hate you so--"

"You might speak to him about it--you might even get rid of him,"
replied the young man, in the tone of one deeply imposed upon.