t a beautiful girl, and not at all what is understood by a
"brilliant" girl; yet at the very first look she excited my interest,
as Stansby village itself had done. In every outline and motion she
showed perfect health; her clear color was tonic to the eye; her deep
brown hair, at the same time that it gave a restful look to her
forehead, added something of fervency to her general aspect. In
sympathy with the beautiful day, she had taken off her hat (which she
carried on one arm), disclosing a spray of fresh lilacs in her hair.
She was very simply, though not poorly, dressed. All this, and more, I
was able to observe without disturbing her absorption in her book; but
just as I was trying to decide whether the firm, compressed corners of
her mouth only meant interest in the reading, or indicated some
peculiar hardness of character, she glanced up and saw my eyes bent
upon her.

Then, for an instant, there came into her own a look of eager search;
no softly inquiring gaze, such as would be natural to most women on
a casual meeting of this sort, but a full, energetic, self-reliant
scrutiny. I don't think the compression about her lips was softened
by her surprise at seeing me; but that keen level look from her
eyes brought a wonderful change over her face, so that from being
interesting it became attractive, and I was fired by a kind of
enthusiasm in beholding it. Involuntarily I took off my hat, and
paused at the side of the highway. She bent her head again,--perhaps
with some acknowledgment of my bow, but not definitely for that
purpose, because she continued reading as she passed me.

But now came the strangest part of the episode. This girl disappeared
around the bend of the road, and after her two young fellows drew near
whom I recognized as Vibbard and Silverthorn. It happened that
Silverthorn, as on the very first day I had ever seen him, carried a
sprig of lilac. Happened? No; the lilac in the girl's hair was too
strong a coincidence to be overlooked, and I was not long in guessing
that there was some tender meaning in it.

"Hullo! Ferguson."

"Did you know we were here?"

These exclamations were made with some confusion, and Silverthorn
blushed faintly.

"No," said I. "Do you come often?"

They looked at each other confidentially.

"We have, lately," Vibbard admitted.

"Then perhaps you can tell me who that girl is that I just passed."

"Oh, yes," said Silverthorn, at once. "That's Ida Winwood, the
d