He came up with her a little farther on. As she glanced casually at him he raised his hat and said, bowing and pausing as he did so:
"Good morning, Mrs. Lorraine!"
Stephanie knew who had been behind—she had heard his quick, sharp step a long way back and had contrived, as only a woman can, to see who it was without betraying that she had seen. And she had decided what she would do, if he overtook her,—and she was intending that he should overtake her—and speak; also what she would do if, by any chance, he did not speak.
"Good morning, sir," she replied.
It was politely indifferent, yet at the same time courteous. It neither repelled, repressed nor invited.
"It is a charming morning," said he, appraising the situation as he saw it.
It was just as he had anticipated. She had no thought of snubbing him—she was very well content to take him as one of the circle to which she belonged, and to treat him accordingly.
"Perfectly lovely!" she answered.
He shortened his steps, so that he remained a trifle in advance and appeared to be slowly passing her.
"It's the cream of the day, to me," he said—"particularly at this season of the year. I don't know that I should call it so all the year."