"Did you get him?"
"No. He went off at two hundred yards."
"Blue-bird weather," she sighed; and again they exchanged smiles. He noticed that her eyes had somehow become exceedingly blue instead of the
clear gray which he had supposed was their color. And, after her brief slumber, there seemed to be a sort of dewy freshness about them, and about her slightly pink cheeks, which, at that time, he had no idea were at all perilous to him. All he was conscious of was a sensation of pleasure in looking at her, and a slight surprise in the revelation of elements in her which, he began to decide, constituted real beauty.
"That's a quaint expression—'blue-bird weather,'" he said. "It's a perfect description of a spring-like day in winter. Is it a local expression?"
"Yes—I think so. There's a song about it, along the coast"—she laughed uncertainly—"a rather foolish song."
"What is it?"
"If I remember"—she hesitated, thinking for a moment, then, with a laugh which he thought a little bashful—"it's really too silly to repeat!"
"Please sing it!"
"Very well—if you wish."