"It came as a complete surprise to me," said Hamilton Beamish. "It is excessively aggravating that I do not know her name nor where she lives nor anything about her except that she appears to be a friend—or at least an acquaintance—of your stepmother."
"Oh, she knows mother, does she?"
"Apparently. She was calling here by appointment."
"All sorts of weird people call on mother. She is honorary secretary to about a hundred societies."
"This girl was of medium height, with an extremely graceful figure and bright brown hair. She wore a two-piece suit with a coat of fine quality repp over a long-sleeved frock of figured Marocain pleated at the sides and finished at the neck with a small collar and kilted frill. Her hat was of Yedda Visca straw, trimmed and bound with silk petersham ribbon. She had patent-leather shoes, silk stockings, and eyes of tender grey like the mists of sunrise floating over some magic pool of Fairyland. Does the description suggest anybody to you?"
"No, I don't think so—She sounds nice."
"She is nice. I gazed into those eyes only for a moment, but I shall never forget them. They were deeper than the depth of waters stilled at even."
"I could ask mother who she is."
"I should be greatly obliged if you would do so," said Hamilton Beamish. "Mention that it is some one upon whom she is to call at five o'clock to-morrow, and telephone me the name and address. Oh, to seize her and hold her close to me and kiss her again and again and again! And now, child, tell me of yourself. I think you mentioned that you also were in love."
"Yes. With George Finch."