and from his chest where the lines and
bosses of the muscles showed under the light gauze, and from his crimson
belt, down the firm long slopes to his knees; and it was as if her eyes
brushed him, palpably, with soft feather strokes. They rested on his
face; and it was as if they held him between two ardent hands. And over
her own face as she looked at him there went a little wave of change.
Her rich color stirred and deepened; her lips parted for the quick
passage of her breath; and her blue eyes looked gray as if veiled in a
light vapor.

Ranny was seized with an overpowering, a terrible consciousness of
himself and of his evolutions on the horizontal bar.

"Well," he said, as if in apology, "you've seen me figuring queerly."

"Oh, it's all right for men," she said. "Besides, I've seen _you_
before."

"Why, you weren't here last time?"

"No. Not here."

"Where, then? Where on earth can you have seen me?"

She bent her brows at him in that way she had, under the brim of her
wide hat. "I saw you at Wandsworth--at the Sports--running in that race.
When you won the cup."

"Oh, Lord," said Ranny, expressing his innermost confusion.

"Well, I'm sure you ran beautifully."

"Oh, yes, I _ran_ all right."

"And you jumped!"

"Anybody can jump," said Ranny.

"Can they?"

"Oh, Lord, yes. You should see Fred Booty."

"I did see him. You won the cup off him."

She drew herself up, in that other way she had, as if challenged.

"And he'll win it off me next year. You bet. Look--here they are."

Some instinct, risen he knew not whence, compelled him to divert her
gaze.

From below in the great hall came the sound of the rhythmic padding and
tramping of feet. The Young Ladies of the Polytechnic were marching in.
Right and left they wheeled, and right and left ranged themselves in two
long lines under the galleries. Now they were marking time with the
stiff rise and fall of black stockings under the short tunics. Facing
them, at the head of her rank, was Winny Dymond, very upright and
earnest. And with each movement of her hips the crimson sash of
leadership swung in rhythm at her side.

Miss Usher turned to him. "Is Winny with them?"

"Rather. There she is. Right opposite. Jolly she looks, doesn't she?"

Miss Usher looked at Winny. The bent black brows bent lower, and a large
blue eye slued round into her profile, darting a sudden light at him.

"Don't ask _me_," she said, "I'm sure _I_ don't know." And sh