Hallowell he, too, was full of romance—miracles in steel, visions which cast into shape huge fighting-machines, tremendous guns, flying torpedoes. He was, aside from his official duties, a successful inventor. Few of the grim floating forts of the navy were without certain devices of his. He had just completed plans which eventually were going to cause the German Admiralty a good deal of anxiety.
There were still two or three points he had not cleared up to his own satisfaction. The plans were absolutely complete as they stood; and he believed he saw a chance to reduce the complexity of certain phases; and he was hammering away at this problem after hours, often far into the night.
Mathison, Hallowell and Company (the Company being the Rajputana parrakeet); an odd pair of men, rather misunderstood, with few intimates, sharing a deep, abiding love, never spoken of, but tacitly understood. They were jocularly known as "The Two Orphans" and the villa as "The Orphanage," as both men were without immediate family ties.
Lately Hallowell had formed the habit of going to the Botanical Gardens for a half-hour's ramble, between four and five. He had discovered that this mild exercise cleared his mind of all routine and left it free to creative musings. He tramped about the paths at a moderate gait, his hands behind his back, the tip of his short, gray-peppered beard projecting like a bowsprit over his collar. I doubt if during these pleasant peregrinations he ever saw anything but the white markings on blue-prints. Half an hour to the minute, then he would shake off the spell, set his shoulders, and hurry away for the trolley to San Miguel.
Having delivered his ultimatum to the woman known as The Yellow Typhoon and having learned, on the following day, that she had left the hotel in the Escolta, all thought of her went out of his mind completely. It was an unhappy page turned down for good. But to-day, one week later, as he came out of his day-dreams, she popped into his head.
A wave of shame ran over him. He would never forgive himself for that violence. Not that he felt any pity toward the woman. The act had lowered himself eternally in his own eyes; the luster was gone from his self-esteem. He had kissed another man's wife, not his own. And what was worse, she might interpret the act as a sign that he still cared for her and try to re-enter his life at some later day. Fool! A mad impulse to hurt her, and he had hurt only himself. Well, the damage was done; berating his folly would not wipe it off the slate.
Suddenly his sound eye lost its introspective look and became alert. Coming down the path toward him was a woman. She was dressed in pongee, a sola-topee on her head. Round this sun-helmet ran the folds of a gray veil which could be lowered or raised at will. At this moment the woman's face was clear. It was young and vividly beautiful. Her hair was a ruddy gold, like the tips of ripe wheat after rain. The sun, directly behind her, cast a golden nimbus on each side of her head. Her eyes were purple-blue, like wood-violets, and her skin was the tint of pale amber. She walked with a free stride of one who loved the air and sunshine. She saw Hallowell only after he had deliberately stepped in front of her, blocking the way.
Her mouth opened slightly and a vague bewilderment took the zest out of her face.