wonder, let it be advanced in his defence.

She was astoundingly fair to look upon--dazzling, it might be said, with
some support to the adjective. Moreover, she was looking directly into
his eyes from her unstable position near the door; what was more, a shy,
even mischievous, smile crept into her face as her glance caught his.
Never had he seen a more exquisite face than hers; never had he looked
upon a more perfect picture of grace and loveliness and--aye, smartness.
She was smiling with unmistakable friendliness and recognition, and yet
he could have sworn he had not seen her before in his life. As if he
could have forgotten such a face! A sudden sense of enchantment swept
over him, indescribable, yet delicious.

She was coming toward him--still smiling shyly, her lips parted as if
she were breathing quickly from fear or another emotion. He set down his
coffee-cup without regard to taste or direction, his gaze fixed upon the
trim, slender figure in blue. He now saw that her dark eyes were filled
with a soft seriousness that belied her brave smile; a delicate pink had
come into her clear, high-bred face; the hesitancy of the gentlewoman
enveloped her with a mantle that shielded her from any suspicion of
boldness. Brock struggled to his feet, amazement written in his face.

"Good morning, Roxbury," she said, in the most impersonal of greetings.
Her smile deepened as the blankness increased in his face. In the most
casual, matter-of-fact manner, she appropriated the chair across the
table from his. "Please sit down, Roxy."

He sat down abruptly. For a single, tense, abashed moment they looked
searchingly into each other's eyes.