``Victor--here's Miss Hastings come to see you.'' Then to Jane:
``Excuse me, please. I don't dare leave that kitchen long.''

She departed. Jane waited while Victor, his pencil reluctantly
slackening and his glance lingeringly rising from the paper, came
back to sense of his surroundings. He stared at her blankly,
then colored a little. He rose--stiff, for him formal. Said he:

``How d'you do, Miss Hastings?''

She came down the arbor, recovering her assurance as she again
became conscious of herself, so charmingly dressed and no doubt
beautiful in his eyes. ``I know you're not glad to see me,''
said she. ``But I'm only stopping a very little minute.''

His eyes had softened--softened under the influence of the
emotion no man can ever fail to feel at least in some degree at
sight of a lovely woman. ``Won't you sit?'' said he, with a
glance at the wooden chair near the other side of the table.

She seated herself, resting one gloved hand on the prettily
carved end of her white-sunshade. She was wearing a big hat of
rough black straw, with a few very gorgeous white plumes. ``What
a delightful place to work,'' exclaimed she, looking round,
admiring the flowers, the slow ripening grapes, the delicious
shade. ``And you--how WELL you look!''

``I've forgotten I was ever anything but well,'' said he.

``You're impatient for me to go,'' she cried laughing. ``It's