"For staring! First," he said, his Irish eyes laughing back at her
with the frank charm of a boy begging her to like him, "first I thought
you had stepped from a tapestry into my dream--"

The rich hint of rose in her skin deepened. She glanced at her gown.

"Don't tell me about it!" begged Kenny impetuously. And long afterward
she was to recognize in that eager gallantry the finest of tact. "It's
a delight just to be wonderin'! You called me Mr. O'Neill!" he added
blankly.

"Some letters had tumbled from your pocket."

Kenny's brow cleared.

"Besides, whenever the horn blew lately I thought it might be you."

This was too amazing. But the girl's eyes were beautiful, ingenuous
and wholly sincere. Dumfounded, Kenny turned away and gathered up his
letters.

"Mystery," he said, shaking his head, "is the spice of delight. But I
like it diffused. A bit more and I'll be knowing for sure that I'm
dreamin'."

"It's as simple as the letters," said the girl, smiling. She drew a
letter from the pocket of her gown and held it out to him. He read the
address with frank curiosity. Well, thank Heaven, that was settled.
Her name was Joan West.