I


"Such hair! Such eyes! Such color! Laugh if you will, Whittemore,
but I swear that she was the handsomest girl I've ever laid my
eyes upon!"

There was an artist's enthusiasm in Gregson's girlishly sensitive
face as he looked across the table at Whittemore and lighted a
cigarette.

"She wouldn't so much as give me a look when I stared," he added.
"I couldn't help it. Gad, I'm going to make a full-page 'cover' of
her to-morrow for Burke's. Burke dotes on pretty women for the
cover of his magazine. Why, demmit, man, what the deuce are you
laughing at?"

"Not at this particular case, Tom," apologized Whittemore. "But--
I'm wondering--"

His eyes wandered ruminatively about the rough interior of the
little cabin, lighted by a single oil-lamp hanging from a cross-
beam in the ceiling, and he whistled softly.

"I'm wondering," he went on, "if you'll ever strike a place where
you won't see 'one of the most beautiful things on earth.' The
last one was at Rio Piedras, wasn't it, Tom? A Spanish girl, or
was she a Creole? I believe I've got your letter yet, and I'll