She sat down on a park chair to wrestle with the problem, and so intent was she upon its solution that she did not realize that somebody had stopped before her.
“This is a miracle!” said a laughing voice, and she looked up into the blue eyes of Dick Gordon. “And now you can tell me what is the difficulty?” he asked as he pulled another chair toward her and sat down.
“Difficulty . . . who . . . who said I was in difficulties?” she countered.
“Your face is the traitor,” he smiled. “Forgive this attire. I have been to make an official call at the United States Embassy.”
She noticed for the first time that he wore the punctilious costume of officialdom, the well-fitting tail-coat, the polished top-hat and regulation cravat. She observed first of all that he looked very well in them, and that he seemed even younger.
“I have an idea it is your brother,” he said. “I saw him a few minutes ago—there he is now.”
She followed the direction of his eyes, and half rose from her chair in her astonishment. Riding on the tan track which ran parallel to the park road, were a man and a girl. The man was Ray. He was smartly dressed, and from the toes of his polished riding-boots to the crown of his grey hat, was all that was creditable to expensive tailoring. The girl at his side was young, pretty, petite.
The riders passed without Ray noticing the interested spectators. He was in his gayest mood, and the sound of his laughter came back to the dumbfounded girl.
“But . . . I don’t understand—do you know the lady, Mr. Gordon?”
“Very well by repute,” said Dick drily. “Her name is Lola Bassano.”