Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity.
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