was walking slowly and letting her long dress rustle over the gravel;
the young men had time to see her distinctly before she averted her
face and went her way. She left a vague, sweet perfume behind her as she
passed.

"Immortal powers!" cried Roderick, "what a vision! In the name of
transcendent perfection, who is she?" He sprang up and stood looking
after her until she rounded a turn in the avenue. "What a movement, what
a manner, what a poise of the head! I wonder if she would sit to me."

"You had better go and ask her," said Rowland, laughing. "She is
certainly most beautiful."

"Beautiful? She 's beauty itself--she 's a revelation. I don't believe
she is living--she 's a phantasm, a vapor, an illusion!"

"The poodle," said Rowland, "is certainly alive."

"Nay, he too may be a grotesque phantom, like the black dog in Faust."

"I hope at least that the young lady has nothing in common with
Mephistopheles. She looked dangerous."

"If beauty is immoral, as people think at Northampton," said Roderick,
"she is the incarnation of evil. The mamma and the queer old gentleman,
moreover, are a pledge of her reality. Who are they all?"

"The Prince and Princess Ludovisi and the principessina," suggested
Rowland.