Chapter VII



The appearance of Miss Lucy Morgan the next day, as she sat in
George's fast cutter, proved so charming that her escort was stricken
to soft words instantly, and failed to control a poetic impulse. Her
rich little hat was trimmed with black fur; her hair was almost as
dark as the fur; a great boa of black fur was about her shoulders; her
hands were vanished into a black muff; and George's laprobe was black.
"You look like--" he said. "Your face looks like--it looks like a
snowflake on a lump of coal. I mean a--a snowflake that would be a
rose-leaf, too!"

"Perhaps you'd better look at the reins," she returned. "We almost
upset just then."

George declined to heed this advice. "Because there's too much pink
in your cheeks for a snowflake," he continued. "What's that fairy
story about snow-white and rose-red--"

"We're going pretty fast, Mr. Minafer!"

"Well, you see, I'm only here for two weeks."

"I mean the sleigh!" she explained. "We're not the only people on the
street, you know."