t
colour I thought her one of the most delightful girls I'd ever seen.

I don't mean that she was one of the prettiest. She was (and is) pretty.
But it wasn't entirely her _looks_ you thought of, in seeing her first.
It was something that shone out from her eyes, and seemed to make a
sweet, happy brightness all around her. Eyes are windows, and something
_must_ be on the other side, but, alas! it seldom shines through. The
windows are dim, or the blinds are down to cover dulness. Joyce Arnold
had a living spirit behind those big, bright soul-windows that were her
eyes!

As for the rest, she was tall and slim, and delicately long-limbed. She
had milk-white skin with a soft touch of rose on the cheek bones; a few
freckles which were like the dust from tiger-lily petals, and a
charming, sensitive mouth, full and red.

"Why, of course I want you!" I said. "I'm lucky to secure you, too! How
glad I am that you didn't come after I'd engaged someone else! But even
if you had, I'd have managed to get rid of her one way or other."

Miss Arnold smiled. She had the most contagious smile!--though it struck
me even then that it wasn't a _merry_ smile. Her face, with its piquant
little nose, was meant to be gay and happy I thought; yet it wasn't
either. It was more plucky and brave; and the eyes had known sadness, I
felt sure. I guessed her age as twenty-three or twenty-four.

She said that she would love to work for me. The girls who were waiting
to be interviewed were sent politely away in search of other engagements
while I settled things with Miss Arnold. The more I looked at her, the
more I talked with her, the more definite became an impression that I'd
seen her before--a long time ago. At last I asked her the question: "Can
it be that we've met somewhere?"

Colour streamed over her pale face. "Yes, Princess, we have," she said.
"At least, we didn't exactly _meet_. It couldn't be called that."

"What was it then, if not a meeting?" I encouraged her.

"I was in my first job as secretary. I was with Miss Opal Fawcett. When
it was Ben Ali's day out--Ben Ali was her Arab butler, you know--I used
to open the door. I opened it for you and--and Lady June Dana when you
came. I remember quite well, though I never thought _you_ would."

Why did the girl blush so? I wondered. Could it be that she was ashamed
of having been with Opal Fawcett, or--was it something to do with the
mention of June? Miss Arnold had evidently just left h