In response to which Cork smiled with a touch of superiority and gave
her to understand that he was too sensible to be afraid of shadows.

They were still sitting there conversing, with their faces to the
sunlit garden, when there came the sound of a careless footfall and
Violet Campion, her riding-whip dangling from her wrist, strolled round
the corner of the house, and in at the open door.

She was laughing as she came, evidently at some joke that clung to her
memory.

"Look at me!" she said. "I'm all foam. But I've conquered his majesty
King Devil for once. He's come back positively abject. My dear, do get
up! You're sitting on my coffin!"

Olga got up quickly. "Violet, what extraordinary things you think of!"

The other girl laughed again, and stooping raised the oaken lid. "It's
not in the least extraordinary. Look inside, and picture to yourself how
comfy I shall be! You can come and see me if you like, and spread
flowers--red ones, mind. I like plenty of colour."

She dropped the lid again carelessly, and took a gold cigarette-case
from her pocket. The sunlight shone generously upon her at that moment,
and Olga Ratcliffe told herself for the hundredth time that this friend
of hers was the loveliest girl she had ever seen. Certainly her beauty
was superb, of the Spanish-Irish type that is world-famous,--black hair
that clustered in soft ringlets about the forehead, black brows very
straight and delicate, skin of olive and rose, features so exquisite as