"All of that. Esmé Elliot is a lady, so far as that goes. But--well, I'm
not going to prejudice you. Here she comes now."

"Who is it with her?"

"Her uncle, Dr. Elliot. He doesn't altogether approve of us--me, I
mean."

Uncle and niece were coming directly toward them now, and Hal watched
her approach with a thrill of delight in her motion. It was a study in
harmonies. She moved like a cloud before the wind; like a ship upon the
high seas; like the swirl of swift waters above hidden depths. As the
pair passed to their car, which stood next to Dr. Surtaine's, the girl
glanced up and nodded, with a brilliant smile, to the doctor, who
returned to the salutation an extra-gallant bow.

"You seem to be friends," commented Hal, somewhat amused.

"That was more for you than for me. But the fair Esmé can always spare
one of those smiles for anything that wears trousers."

Hal moved uneasily. He felt a sense of discord. As he cast about for a
topic to shift to, the Elliot car rolled ahead slowly, and once more he
caught the woodsy perfume of the pink bloom. Strangely and satisfyingly
to his quickened perceptions, it seemed to express the quality of the
wearer. Despite her bearing of worldly self-assurance, despite the
atmosphere of modishness about her, there was in her charm something
wild and vivid, vernal and remote, like the arbutus which, alone among
flowers, keeps its life-secret virgin and inviolate, resisting all
endeavors to make it bloom except in its own way and in its own chosen