of
things that interested her. He found out she was seventeen, and she
found out that he was twenty-nine. The following two years Shelton
went to Holm Oaks whenever he was asked; to him this was a period of
enchanted games, of cub-hunting, theatricals, and distant sounds of
practised music, and during it Antonia's eyes grew more friendly and
more curious, and his own more shy, and schooled, more furtive and more
ardent. Then came his father's death, a voyage round the world, and that
peculiar hour of mixed sensations when, one March morning, abandoning
his steamer at Marseilles, he took train for Hyeres.

He found her at one of those exclusive hostelries amongst the pines
where the best English go, in common with Americans, Russian princesses,
and Jewish families; he would not have been shocked to find her
elsewhere, but he would have been surprised. His sunburnt face and
the new beard, on which he set some undefined value, apologetically
displayed, were scanned by those blue eyes with rapid glances, at once
more friendly and less friendly. "Ah!" they seemed to say, "here you
are; how glad I am! But--what now?"

He was admitted to their sacred table at the table d'hote, a snowy
oblong in an airy alcove, where the Honourable Mrs. Dennant, Miss
Dennant, and the Honourable Charlotte Penguin, a maiden aunt with
insufficient lungs, sat twice a day in their own atmosphere. A momentary
weakness came on Shelton the first time he saw them sitting there at
lunch. What was it gave them their look of strange detachment? Mrs.
Dennant was bending above a camera.

"I'm afraid, d' you know, it's under-exposed," she said.

"What a pity! The kitten was rather nice!" The maiden aunt, placing
the knitting of a red silk tie beside her plate, turned her aspiring,
well-bred gaze on Shelton.

"Look, Auntie," said Antonia in her clear, quick voice, "there's the
funny little man again!"

"Oh," said the maiden aunt--a smile revealed her upper teeth; she looked
for the funny little man (who was not English)--"he's rather nice!"

Shelton did not look for the funny little man; he stole a glance that
barely reached Antonia's brow, where her eyebrows took their tiny upward
slant at the outer corners, and her hair was still ruffled by a windy
walk. From that moment he became her slave.

"Mr. Shelton, do you know anything about these periscopic binoculars?"
said Mrs. Dennant's voice; "they're splendid for buildin's, but
buildin's are so disapp