r houses," I answered, laughing, and looking straight into those eyes
of lapis lazuli and then away. "But I adore this one, as it is going to
give me the happiest hours in my life!"

And I met her eyes. A slow flush mounted into Lucia's face, and then
she seemed to tear her gaze from mine with difficulty and turned to the
window, so that I could not see her face; her ear, however, betrayed
her all the same, for the painful blush reached even there, and flooded
its white, pink-tinted porcelain with scarlet.

A second after, the train was at a standstill, drawn up at the platform
of the station. It was very quiet, and even the train coming in hardly
seemed to disturb the sleepy stillness that hung over the strips of
asphalt, the beds of hollyhocks and lilac bushes against the
whitewashed walls, where the rural fancy of the stationmaster had gone
so far as to range a row of straw bee-hives.

There were few passengers by the train, and little luggage except our
own. The single porter, the stationmaster, some workmen, and a few
market women, with white aprons and baskets of eggs on their arms,
stared wonderingly at Lucia as she stood with the golden sunlight
pouring down upon her light hair and brilliant face, and the glory of
Parisian fashion embodied in her dress.

My friend's carriage had come to meet the train, and I left her for a
moment to speak to the footman about our luggage. As I walked back up
the platform she was standing three-quarter ways towards me, the
attitude which displays best that most alluring line in a woman's
figure, the line from under the arms to the waist.

In Lucia it was specially striking, not straight, but like the back of
a Z, a sharp, smooth slope to the low waist, and formed a perfect
harmony with the two curves of the hips, and the long fall of the skirt
beneath. All my frame--every limb and muscle--quickened with keen
pleasure as my eye met the familiar lines, as yet familiar to one sense
only, and then followed the inevitable, involuntary rush of exultant
remembrance of my absolute possession now.

I let it come and flood my brain with a half-drunken satisfaction, and
the phrase formed itself on my lips, "Well, hang it, my to-morrow has
come at last!" As I came up to her I saw her eyes were fixed upon me
with a searching gaze. I thanked heaven Lucia was not one of the
horrible, modern women, if indeed they exist outside a lady's novel,
who are always analysing you and your emotions,