A horse was coming up the road at a lively pace. The rider was seated a-straddle, and so Samuel was slow to realize that it was a woman. It was only when he saw her wave her hand and call to them that he was sure.
She reined up her horse, and a groom who followed her took the rein, and she stepped off upon the piazza and stood looking at them. She was young and of extraordinary beauty. She was breathing fast, and her hair was blown about her forehead, and the glow of health was in her cheeks; and Samuel thought that she was the most beautiful object that he had ever beheld in all his life. He stared transfixed; he had never dreamed that anything so wonderful could exist in the world. He realized in a sudden glow of excitement what it was that confronted him. She was the female of this higher species; she was the superior and triumphant woman.
“Hello, Bertie!” she said.
“Hello!” the other replied, and then added. “This is my cousin, Miss Wygant. Glad, this is Samuel Prescott.”
The girl made a slight acknowledgment, and stared at Samuel with a look in which curiosity and hauteur were equally mingled. She was a brunette with dark hair, and an almost Oriental richness of coloring. She was lithe and gracefully built, and quick in her motions. There was eager alertness in her whole aspect; her glance was swift and her voice imperious. One could read her at a glance for a person accustomed to command—impatient and adventurous, passionate and proud.
“I've had an adventure,” said her cousin by way of explanation. “Samuel, here, saved my life.”
And Samuel thrilled to see the sudden look of interest which came into the girl's face.
“What!” she cried.
“Yes,” said the other. “Spitfire ran away with me.”
“You don't mean it, Bertie!”