A young woman stood in the doorway, looking in inquiringly.
She was tall and slender, with a certain quiet grace as she stood there, glancing into the room. There was something poised in the motion—a kind of freedom and lightness.
The young man's eye rested on her a minute—and turned back to the window indifferent.... She was very late. He took out his watch and looked—five minutes past the hour. He put it back with a little impatient gesture. They would miss the best light for the garden!
Behind him, in the room, he was conscious that the young woman had come in. She was waiting for some one, it seemed, like himself—and he heard her move a little ... and then a subdued laugh. He half turned his head—it reminded him of something.... Could he have met her somewhere—before he went abroad? The steps rustled and came nearer and a touch fell on his shoulder—very light, as if it might drift away—as if perhaps it were not there....
Julian turned swiftly—and stared into her eyes; they were bubbling over with laughter, and the hair fluffing under the little modish hat, caught reddish gleams and glinted at him. And he stared!
She laughed out—the hands hanging easily before her. "You didn't know me!"
"You are not—you!" blurted Julian. "You are—you're different!"
Then he seized her hands and looked at her—"I say! Come on!... You are—You're stunning, you know!"
"Thank you!" said the girl. "Yes—I'm ready." And they went out into the sunshine.
And all the way, in the street-car, sitting beside her, the young man stole glimpses.