CHAPTER V

IN THE PARK


Close at hand, the trees in Hyde Park seemed to droop their branches, as
if in sympathy with the gray aspect of the day, while afar, across the
green, the sylvan guardians of the place had either receded altogether
in the gray haze or stood forth like shadowy ghosts. In the foreground,
not far from the main entrance, a number of sheep and their young
nibbled contentedly the wet and delectable grass, and as some bright
gown paused or whisked past, the juxtaposition of fine raiment and young
lamb suggested soft, shifting Bouchers or other dainty French pastorals
in paint. The air had a tang; the dampness enhanced the perfumes, made
them fuller and sweeter, and a joyous sort of melancholy seemed to hold
a springtime world in its grasp.

Into this scene of rural tranquillity rode briskly about the middle of
the morning Jocelyn Wray and others. The glow on the girl's cheeks
harmonized with the redness of her lips; the sparkling blue eyes mocked
at all neutral hues; her gown and an odd ribbon or two waved, as it
were, light defiance to motionless things--still leaves and branches,
flowers and buds, drowsy and sleeping. Her mount was deep black, with
fine arching neck and spirited head; on either side of the head, beneath
ears sensitive, delicately pointed, had been fastened a rose, badge of
favor from a bunch nestling at the white throat of the young girl. She
rode with a grace and rhythmical ease suggestive of large experience in
the pastime; the slender, supple figure swayed as if welcoming gladly
the swing and the quick rush of air. Sometimes at her side, again just