r eyes, and the
single white lock swept back amid the powdered dusk of her hair.

While the young man walked rapidly up Franklin Street, he saw before him
the long delightful room beyond the pyramidal cedars and the hedge of
box. He saw the ruddy glow of the fire mingling with the paler light of
amber lamps, and this mingled radiance shining on the rich rugs, the few
old brocades, and the rare English prints which covered the walls. He
saw wide-open creamy roses in alabaster bowls which were scattered
everywhere, on tables, on stools, on window-seats, and on the rich
carving of the Spanish desk in one corner. Against the curtains of gold
silk there was the bough of twisted pine he had broken, and against the
pine branch stood the figure of Corinna in her gown of soft red, which
melted like a spray of autumn foliage into the colours of the room. She
was a tall woman, with a glorious head and eyes that reminded Stephen of
a forest pool in autumn. Who had first said of her, he wondered, that
she looked like an October morning?

As he approached the shop the glow shone out on him through the dull
gold curtains, and he traced the crooked pine bough sweeping across the
thin silk background like the bold free sketch of a Japanese print. When
he rang the bell a minute later, the door was opened by Corinna, who was
holding a basket of marigolds.

"We were just going," she said, "as soon as I had put these flowers in
water."

She drew back into the room, bending over the low brown bowl that she
was filling, while Stephen went over to the fire, and greeted the two
old men who were sitting in deep arm chairs on either side of the
hearth. It was like stepping into another world, he thought, as he
inhaled a full breath of the warmth and the fragrance of roses; it was
as if a door into a dream had suddenly opened, and he had passed out of
the night and the cold into a place where all was colour and fragrance
and pleasant magic. The other was real life--life for all but the happy
few, he found himself thinking--this was merely the enchanted fairy-ring
where children played at making believe.

"I hoped I'd catch you," he said, stretching out his hands to the log
fire. "I felt somehow that you hadn't gone, late as it is." While he
spoke he was thinking, not of Corinna, but of the strange woman he had
left in the Square. Queer how that incident had bitten into his mind.
Try as he might he couldn't shake himself free from it.

"Fath