"Their sweet irresponsibility," said Miss Deane.
And then the train entered Grandchester Station.
I deposited my bag at the station hotel and drove straight to Stavaton Street. I forgot Miss Deane. My thoughts and longings centred in her beloved counterpart, with her tender, caressing ways, and just a subtle inflection in the voice that made it more exquisite than the voice to which I had been listening.
The servant who opened the door recognized me and smiled a welcome. Miss Valerie was in the drawing-room.
"I know the way," said I.
Impetuous, I ran up the stairs, burst into the drawing-room, and stopped short on the threshold in presence of a strange and exceedingly beautiful young woman. She was stately and slender. She had masses of bright brown hair waving over a beautiful brow. She had deep sapphire eyes, like stars. She had the complexion of a Greuze child. She had that air of fairy diaphaneity combined with the glow of superb health which makes the typical loveliness of the Englishwoman. I gaped for a second or two at this gracious apparition.
"I beg your pardon," said I; "I was told—"
The apparition who was standing by the fireplace smiled and came forward with extended hands.
"Why, Harold! Of course you were told. It is all right. I am Valerie."
I blinked; the world seemed upside down; the enchanting voice rang in my ears, but it harmonized in no way with the equally enchanting face. I put out my hand. "How do you do?" I said stupidly.