sudden
revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle
witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an
extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an
experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else the
Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets
plucked from him--his whole soul laid bare--his vanity, belligerency,
gallantry--even his mediaeval chivalry, penetrated, and yet illuminated,
in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, he felt that a
greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.

"I beg your pardon," he said hurriedly. "I mean--this matter may
be arranged--er--amicably. My interest with--and as you wisely
say--my--er--knowledge of my client--er--Mr. Hotchkiss--may effect--a
compromise."

"And DAMAGES," said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if she
had never looked up.

The Colonel winced. "And--er--undoubtedly COMPENSATION--if you do not
press a fulfillment of the promise. Unless," he said, with an attempted
return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the recollection of
her eyes made difficult, "it is a question of--er--the affections."

"Which?" asked his fair client softly.

"If you still love him?" explained the Colonel, actually blushing.

Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's breath away with eyes
that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had SAID, but
of what he thought and had not said, and with an added subtle suggestion
of what he might have thought. "That's tellin'," she said, dropping her
long lashes again.

The Colonel laughed vacantly. Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he
forced an equally weak gravity. "Pardon me--I understand there are no
letters; may I know the way in which he formulated his declaration and
promises?"

"Hymn-books."

"I beg your pardon," said the mystified lawyer.

"Hymn-books--marked words in them with pencil--and passed 'em on to
me," repeated Zaidee. "Like 'love,' 'dear,' 'precious,' 'sweet,' and
'blessed,'" she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol on
the carpet. "Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady--and Solomon's
Song, you know, and sich."

"I believe," said the Colonel loftily, "that the--er--phrases of sacred
psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But in
regard to the distinct promise of marriage--was there--er--no OTHER
expression?"

"Marriage