At the end of the hour Andrew rose heavily and left his seat. His face
was gray, his knees shook a little. He understood.

* * * * *

But his cup of bitterness was not yet full. As he made his way down the
passage behind one of the rows of chairs reserved for the cottagers, he
beheld a girl who had just entered. He stood still and stared at her,
wondering that he had ever thought other women beautiful. If those he
had worshipped were princesses, this was a goddess. Only New York could
give her that nameless distinction, so curiously unlike the graceful
breeding of older lands,--the difference between the hothouse orchid and
the lily of ancient parks. This girl's figure was more Junoesque than
was usual with her kind, her waist larger. She was very tall. Her
carriage was one of regal simplicity, as if she were wont to walk on
stars. Her shining brown hair was gathered into a knot at the base of
her classic head. Her brow and chin and throat were perfect in their
modelling. Her skin, of a marvellous whiteness, seemed to shed a light
of its own; one might surely examine it with a microscope and find no
flaw. Her mouth and nose were irregular, but her large blue-gray eyes
shone triumphant, and she had beautiful ears. She wore a simple gown of
pale blue organdie, clinging to her faultless figure, even at the throat
and wrists. At her right was the new-found relative of the Webbs, half a
head too short to reach that exquisite ear with his mumblings. About her
were several other men.

Andrew's capacity for love may not have been very profound, but he loved
this woman at once and finally. It was a love that would have delighted
the cynical Schopenhauer and the philosophical Darwin. The instinct of