"Good night, Uncle Eric; the carriage is coming. I believe I should know the tramp of those horses amid a regiment of cavalry."
"Why need you hurry off? Let your father come in."
"I will spare him that trouble. Good night, Mr. Aubrey."
She turned to leave the room, but, in gathering her cloak around her, dropped her fan. Russell stooped to pick it up, and, as he restored it, their hands met. His brow flushed, but not even the pale pearly glow of a sea-shell crept to her cheek. Again she raised her eyes to his, and a haughty, dazzling smile flashed over her face as she inclined her head.
"Thank you, sir."
There was a brief silence, broken by Eric, when the sound of the carriage had died away.
"Irene is the only perfectly beautiful woman I ever saw; and yet, Aubrey, it makes me sad to watch her countenance."
"Whenever I see her I cannot avoid recalling an old Scandinavian myth; she realizes so fully my ideal Iduna, standing at the portals of Valhalla, offering apples of immortality."
He returned at once to his book and read several pages, occasionally pausing to call attention to some special passage; finally he rose, and took his hat.
"It is early yet, Aubrey; don't go."