ent. 'It looks as if it might rain.'

The morning was still and soft and overcast, and the air was full of
the scent of the flowers and leaves, and fresh-clipped grass. The small
birds chirped rather plaintively from the trees on the lawn, or stood
about the edge of the little pond apparently expecting something to
happen, hopping down to the water occasionally, looking down at the
reflections in it and then hopping back again with a dissatisfied air;
and they muffled themselves up in their feathers as if they meant to go
to sleep, and then suddenly spread their wings out, without flying, and
scraped the grass with them. The elms were quite green already, and the
oaks were pushing out thousands of bright emerald leaves. There is a
day in every spring when the maiden year reaches full girlhood, and
pauses on the verge of woman's estate, to wonder at the mysterious
longings that disquiet all her being, and at the unknown music that
sings through her waking dreams.

Margaret sat in the motor car wrapped in a wide thin cloak and covering
her mouth lest the rush of air should affect her voice; but the quick
motion was pleasant, and she felt all the illusion of accomplishing
something worth doing, merely because she was spinning along at
breakneck speed. Somehow, too, the still air and the smell of the
flowers had made her restless that morning before starting, and the
rapid movement soothed her. If she had been offered her choice just
then, she would perhaps have been on horseback for a gallop across
country, but the motor car was certainly the next best thing to that.

For some minutes the chauffeur kept his eyes on the road ahead and both
hands on the steering-gear. Then one hand moved, the speed of the car
slackened suddenly, and the man turned and spoke over the back of his
seat.

'I hope you'll forgive me,' he said in English.

Margaret started and sat up straight, for the voice was Logotheti's.
The huge goggles, the protecting curtain over half the face, the
wide-visored cap and the turned-up coat collar, had disguised him
beyond all recognition. Even his usually smooth black moustache was
ruffled out of shape, and hid his characteristic mouth.

Margaret uttered an exclamation of surprise, not quite sure whether she
ought to smile or frown.

'I thought Mrs. Rushmore would not like it, if I came for you myself,'
he continued, looking at her through his goggles.

'I'm sure she wouldn't,' Margaret assented readil