Thus beneath us have we seen a few of the countless millions upon whom the September sun shone down that day; and we know that in their comings and their goings they wove unconsciously that web of destiny whose warp and woof fashion the garment that hides the mystery of life.
CHAPTER XIII.
“Woman in bicycle costume is an acquired taste,” Ned Strong had once remarked to a friend. That was before Mrs. Brevoort had taken to wheeling. She had converted him to a belief in the artistic possibilities of a bifurcated dress for women. He had come to the final conclusion that the desirability of a bicycle costume, so far as the gentler sex is concerned, must remain wholly a local issue. Experience was teaching him that generalizations regarding the progressive woman of to-day are worthless. Furthermore, he had learned that whether or not he admired their ways and costumes made little difference to the women of his set. The iconoclastic tendency of recent years finds no more striking illustration than in the fact that women no longer sacrifice their comfort to their dress for the sake of man’s approval, but dare to be unconventional for the sake of their own comfort.
And Ned Strong was obliged to acknowledge to himself that Mrs. Brevoort, dark, piquante, vivacious, presented an extremely attractive picture on this September afternoon as she sat gazing at the blue waters of the Sound, equipped for a long ride on her wheel.
That Kate Strong was a much more striking and impressive figure than Mrs. Brevoort was a fact that had not appealed to the young man’s mind. Perhaps he had not observed his sister critically. Or it may be that he had so long taken it for granted that Kate always made a good appearance that he was not inclined to waste time on the question as to the adaptability of a bicycle costume to his sister’s use. At all events, the youth found pleasure in confining his attentions to Mrs. Brevoort, and failed to notice that his sister’s face wore an expression of melancholy and that there was a listlessness in her manner that the warmth of the day could not wholly explain.
“And you have heard nothing more about him?” asked Mrs. Brevoort, gazing interestedly at Ned Strong. “It seems very strange that he has never written you a line.”
“Doesn’t it?” cried the young man. “And he was such a thoroughbred in his manner and appearance! Wasn’t he, Kate?”
“He was very attractive,” answered his sister, somewhat reluctantly, it seemed. “I feel sure that some day we shall find an explanation to the mystery.”