She had no one to confide in, no one to make a confidant of her choice; she had taken her seat on a little ledge of the parapet, and, with that charming impulse which prompts a woman to put her name on paper coupled with the name of the man she loves, the girl, with the point of her parasol, dreamily and like a mesmerist under the dictation of a spirit, wrote upon the dust of the old road's face—
Violet
Then, with a half-blush, she was preparing to add the fateful other name, and the blue-tits in the branches above were craning their necks to see, when from beyond the hilltop the sound of a motor-car rapidly approaching broke the spell.
As it passed she was standing looking at the river, and name on the dust of the road there was none, nor anything to hint of love but the graceful figure of the girl and the beauty of the morning.
Transcriber's Note:
A Table of Contents has been added.