to beauty in a man, he was a distinctly
noticeable figure, and Margaret innocently thought that there was no
reason why she should not show, in a well-bred and maidenly way, of
course, her liking for him.

She had never had much resistant power, this "rare, pale Margaret" of
Sir Philip's dreams, and it seemed quite natural to her that Wyvis
should hover at her side and attend to all her wants that afternoon. She
did not notice that he was keeping off other men by his air of
proprietorship, and that women, old and young, were eyeing her with
surprise and disapprobation as she walked up and down the lawn with him
and allowed him to provide her with tea or strawberries and cream. She
was under a charm, and could not bear the idea of sending him away.
While Wyvis--for his excuse let it be said that his air of
proprietorship was unconscious, and came simply out of his intense
admiration for the girl and his headlong absorption in the interest of
the moment. He did not at all know how intently and exclusively he
looked at her; how reverential and yet masterful was his attitude; and
the sweet consciousness that sat on her down-dropped eyelids and
tenderly flushed cheeks acted as no warning to him, but only as an
incentive to persevere.

The situation became patent to Janetta, when she stood up to sing.
Margaret looked, nodded, and smiled at her with exquisite shy
friendliness. Janetta returned the greeting; and then--as people
noticed--suddenly flushed scarlet and as suddenly turned pale. Many
persons set this change of color down to nervousness; but Sir Philip
Ashley followed the direction of her eyes and knew what she had seen.

Miss Adair was sitting in a corner of the room, where perhaps she hoped
to be unremarked; but her fair beauty and her white dress made it
difficult for her to remain obscure. Wyvis Brand stood beside her,
leaning against the wall, with arms folded across his breast. He was
more in shadow than was she, for he was touched by the folds of a heavy
velvet curtain; but his attitude was significant. He was not looking at
the singer, or at the room; his whole attention was visibly concentrated
upon Margaret. He was looking at her, some one remarked quite audibly,
as if he never meant to look away again. The close, keen absorption of
that gaze was unusual enough to shock conventional observers. There
would have been nothing insolent or overbold about it were he her
husband or her lover; but from a man who-