But the north wind kissed her fair face and the faint color came beneath the white and through it, so that Joe looked at her and thought she was the fairest woman in the world that day.
“When I was a little girl,” said Joe, “mamma used to tell me a story about the beautiful Snow Angel: she must have been just like you, dear.”
“What is the story?” asked Sybil, the delicate color in her cheek deepening a little.
“I will tell you to-night when we are skating, we have not time now. Here we are.” And the two girls went up the steps of the house where they were going to lunch.
On the other side of the street Pocock Vancouver and John Harrington met, and stopped to speak just as Joe and Sybil had rung the bell, and stood waiting at the head of the steps.
“Don’t let us look at each other so long as we can look at them,” said Vancouver, shaking hands with John, but looking across the street at the two girls. John looked too, and both men bowed.
“They are pretty enough for anything, are they not?” continued Vancouver.
“Yes,” said John, “they are very pretty.”
With a nod and a smile Joe and Sybil disappeared into the house.
“Why don’t you marry her?” asked Vancouver.