daintiness and the untidy loveliness of
Gladys Todd. I was almost angry with Gladys Todd because she did not
dress with such simplicity, not knowing that all her wardrobe cost
hardly as much as this unobtrusive gown, this masterpiece of a tailor's
art.

Gladys Todd was not long in my mind. It was as though the memory of
her was swept away by the turn of the blue wings on which my eyes
rested. They moved with a majesty that sent my thoughts hurling down
into the past to match them. I matched them with a bit of blue ribbon.
It had moved as majestically as they. I almost laughed outright. It
was absurd to compare the forlorn child of the clearing with this
smartly groomed young woman, and remembering Nathan, the white mule, I
looked again to the perfectly turned-out carriage at the curb. You
must suspect that there was in my mind, born of a wild hope, a
suspicion that I was seeing Penelope Blight. True. But from Nathan,
the white mule, to this perfect carriage with the haughty footman at
the door was so far a cry that I was about to go on. The girl had
turned also, and I found myself halted and staring at her. I was sure
that she had been studying my back at that moment when I was looking at
the carriage, but being discovered in such interest she gave a start,
recovered herself, and with an angry toss of her head sprang up the
steps and through the door.

In that moment when our eyes met I was sure that I was face to face
with Penelope Blight.

The old Florentine writer, Firenzuola, commends nut-brown as the
loveliest color for a woman's eyes, declaring that it gives to them a
soft, bright, clear and kindly gaze and lends to their movement a
mysteriously alluring charm. These eyes were blue, but in that
fraction of an instant when I looked into them, their light was soft
and bright, clear and kindly; I was sure that they were the same
mysteriously alluring eyes that I had first known years before when I
had crawled, wet and cold, from the depths of the mountain brook.
Knowing no more I should have spoken her name, my hand was rising to my
hat, but the soft and kindly light changed suddenly to hostility, and
she was gone.

I hesitated, not knowing what step to take next. With hesitation doubt
came. I began to argue. The hostile flash of her eyes angered me.
She had tacitly charged me with impertinence, with the manners of a
common Broadway lounger. Then I said, had this really been Penelope
she must h