"Have you decided what it is that is hidden in the bushes?" her aunt asked her.
Evie nodded.
"Yes," she said; "it's a black panther—a beautiful, lithe, vigorous, graceful, dangerous wild animal."
"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Georgy. "He'll think it's himself."
"Do you think he's a vain man, Aunt Georgy?"
"Everyone's as vain as that."
"Well, that isn't my fault," said Evie, and went on her way.
Aunt Georgy shook her head. Life was often like that, she thought—a woman despised a man for believing something that she had exercised all her ingenuity to make him believe.
Lisburn was on his feet when Evie entered, and as soon as he had seen her settled in the deep chair he began to pace up and down; like a panther, she thought, but did not say so; that would have been crude.
"Well," he said, fixing his black eyes on her, "you've found out what it is, haven't you?"