"From the way in which you have carried on, I should imagine a woman."
Roscoria looked up in admiration at his friend's sagacity.
"She came straight by me, walking softly and dreamily, looking aside at the blue hyacinths, and her hat was held in her hand, so that the sun shone on her wonderful hair till it scintillated like a shower of gold. She was tall, yes; but she had an air so ethereal, and in her white dress she showed so like a cloud, that I held my breath lest she should vanish. I thought, indeed, she was some mystic vision I had conjured up from Plato's pages—the Absolute Good she might have been—she was so fair, so spiritual, and the air was so still around us; and there were we alone in the summer silence."
"Did she speak?" inquired Tregurtha (for he was a sailor, and his friend's manner was impressive).
"When she saw me standing still before her she dropped her eyes and made for a gate leading into the wood. The fastening was troublesome, so I went and opened it for her. She turned as she passed through, and bent her head—with a queenliness, heavens!—and smiled and whispered a word of thanks. I saw her eyes then for an instant; they—but I ought not to speak of them, and, after all, I don't know what color they were. She walked a short distance whilst I was shutting the gate again, and I was not the man to spoil her solitude, so I went off very fast; but looking back just once—only once, Tregurtha—I saw her standing amongst those blue-bells, gathering them, whilst the sunbeams slanted through the pale green larch boughs on to that glinting, golden head. After all, what immense possibilities this world contains! I believe this—this vision to have been the daughter of a mortal man who was once a boy, probably also a schoolboy! But then there was a woman in the case."
"Thank you, old fellow," said Richard, consulting his watch: "this has been very instructive; just as good as 'Half-hours with the best Poets;' but I suppose we must all descend to commonplace. You must tone yourself down and come to supper."
"Supper!" gasped Roscoria, blankly.
"Supper," retorted Tregurtha, firmly. "You shall note that not all your boys are overcome by an affaire de cœur, and that if you keep them waiting much longer there will be a bread riot. Here is comfort for you. The Tremenheeres give a tennis party; hie you to it, and if this Oread of yours be mortal, she will surely there be found. It is a good way to distinguish women from angels: the former, if young, can scarcely resist a party."