Ailsa's quick laugh and the tenderness of her expression were her

only comments upon the doings of Josiah Lent, lately captain,

United States dragoons.

Camilla yawned again, rose, and, arranging her spreading white

skirts, seated herself on her veranda steps in full sunshine.

"We did have a nice party, didn't we, Ailsa?" she said, leaning a

little sideways so that she could see over the fence and down into

the Craig's backyard garden.

"I had such a good time," responded Ailsa, looking up radiantly.

"So did I. Billy Cortlandt is the most divine dancer. Isn't

Evelyn Estcourt pretty?"

"She is growing up to be very beautiful some day. Stephen paid her

a great deal of attention. Did you notice it?"

"Really? I didn't notice it," replied Camilla without enthusiasm.

"But," she added, "I did notice you and Phil Berkley on the

stairs. It didn't take you long, did it?"

Ailsa's colour rose a trifle.

"We exchanged scarcely a dozen words," she observed sedately.

Camilla laughed.

"It didn't take you long," she repeated, "either of you. It was

the swiftest case of fascination that I ever saw."

"You are absurd, Camilla."

"But isn't he perfectly fascinating? I think he is the most

romantic-looking creature I ever saw. However," she added, folding

her slender hands in resignation, "there is nothing else to him.

He's accustomed to being adored; there's no heart left in him. I

think it's dead."

Mrs. Paige stood looking up at her, trowel hanging loosely in her

gloved hand.

"Did anything--kill it?" she asked carelessly.

"I don't think it ever lived very long. Anyway there is something

missing in the man; something blank in him. A girl's time is

wasted in wondering what is going on behind those adorable eyes of

his. Because there is nothing going on--it's all on the

surface--the charm, the man's engaging ways and manners--all

surface. . . . I thought I'd better tell you, Ailsa."

"There was no necessity," said Ailsa calmly. "We scarcely

exchanged a dozen words."

As she spoke she became aware of a shape behind the veranda

windows, a man's upright figure passing and repassing. And now, at

the open window, it suddenly emerged into full sunlight, a spare,

sinewy, active gentleman of fifty, hair and moustache thickly

white, a deep seam furrowing his forehead from the left ear to the

roots of the hair above the right temple.




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