meltingly from under her lashes.
"I--I'm imagining vain things," said Mr. Woods. "I--oh, Peggy, Peggy,
I think I must be going mad!"
He stared hungrily at the pink, startled face that lifted toward his.
Ah, no, no, it could not be possible, this thing he had imagined for a
moment. He had misunderstood.
And now just for a little (thought poor Billy) let my eyes drink in
those dear felicities of colour and curve, and meet just for a little
the splendour of those eyes that have the April in them, and rest just
for a little upon that sanguine, close-grained, petulant mouth; and