"Miss Page, sir."
"Oh," said Siward doubtfully; then, "Ask Miss Page to come up."
Marion strolled in a moment later, exchanged a vigorous hand shake with Siward, pulled up a chair and dropped into it. She was in riding-habit and boots, faultlessly groomed as usual, her smooth, pale hair sleek in its thick knot, collar and tie immaculate as her gloves.
"Well," she said, "any news of your ankle, Stephen?"
"I inquired about my ankle," said Siward, amused, "and they tell me it is better, thank you."
"Sit a horse pretty soon?" she asked, dropping one leg over the other and balancing the riding-crop across her knee.
"Not for awhile. You have a fine day for a gallop, Marion," looking askance at the sunshine filtering through the first green leaves of the tree outside his window.
"It's all right--the day. I'm trying Tom O'Hara's new mare. They say she's a little devil. I never saw a devil of a horse--did you? There may be some out West."
"Don't break that pretty neck of yours, Marion," he said.
She lifted her eyes; then, briefly, "No fear."
"Yes, there is," he said. "There's no use looking for trouble in a horse. Women who hunt as you hunt take all that's legitimately coming to them. Why doesn't Tom ride his own mare?"
"She rolled on him," said Marion simply.
"Oh. Is he hurt?"
"Ribs."
"Well, he's lucky."
"Isn't he! He'll miss a few drills with his precious squadron, that's all."
She was looking about her, preoccupied. "Where are your cigarettes, Stephen? Oh, I see. Don't try to move--don't be silly."
She leaned over the desk, her fresh young face close to his, and reached for the cigarettes. The clean-cut head, the sweetness of her youth and femininity, boyish in its allure, were very attractive to him--more so, perhaps, because of his isolation from the atmosphere of women.
"It's all very well, Marion, your coming here--and it's very sweet of you, and I enjoy it immensely," he said: "but it's a deuced imprudent thing for you to do, and I feel bound to say so for your sake every time you come."
She leaned back in her chair and coolly blew a wreath of smoke at him.
"All right," he said, unconvinced.
"Certainly it's all right. I've done what suited me all my life. This suits me."
"It suits me, too," he said, "only I wish you'd tell your mother before somebody around this neighbourhood informs her first."
"Let 'em. You'll be out by that time. Do you think I'm going to tell my mother now and have her stop it?"
"Oh, Marion, you know perfectly well that it won't do for a girl to ignore first principles. I'm horribly afraid somebody will talk about you."