carried the scent of the tobacco in intermittent waves of fragrance, and
on the air floated delicately that subtle message of peace, prosperity,
and leisure which is part of the mission of a good cigar. The
pleasantness of the wide, cool piazza, with its flowers and vines and
gay awnings; the charm of the summer morning, not yet dulled by wear and
tear of the day; the steady, deliberate dash of the waves on the beach
below; the play and shimmer of the big, quiet water, stretching out to
the edge of the world; all this filled their minds, rested their souls.
There was no need for words. The Bishop sighed comfortably as he pushed
his great shoulders back against the cool wicker of the chair and swung
one long leg across the other. Fielding, chin up and lips rounded to let
out a cloud of smoke, rested his hand, cigar between the fingers, on the
table, and gazed at him satisfied. This was the man, after Dick, dearest
to him in the world. Into which peaceful Eden stole at this point the
serpent, and, as is usual, in the shape of woman. Little Eleanor,
long-legged, slim, fresh as a flower in her crisp, faded pink dress,
came around the corner. In one hot hand she carried, by their heads, a
bunch of lilac and pink and white sweet peas. It cost her no trouble at
all, and about half a minute of time, to charge the atmosphere, so full
of sweet peace and rest, with a saturated solution of bitterness and
disquiet. Her presence alone was a bombshell, and with a sentence or two
in her clear, innocent voice, the fell deed was done. Fielding stopped
smoking, his cigar in mid-air, and stared with a scowl at the child; but
Eleanor, delighted to have found the Bishop, saw only him. A shower of
crushed blossoms fell over his knees.

"I ran away from Aunt Basha. I brought you a posy for 'Good-mornin','"
she said. The Bishop, collecting the plunder, expressed gratitude. "Dick
picked a whole lot for Madge, and then they went walkin' and forgot 'em.
Isn't Dick funny?" she went on.