I
It was the 17th of March, yet the sun shone brilliantly, and the air was
soft and balmy as on any July day. Even the good St. Patrick could have
found no possible cause for complaint.
Most of the invalids about the hotel had ventured forth upon the
terrace, and sat in groups of twos and threes basking in the sunshine.
Their more fortunate brethren who were sojourning merely for rest after
the arduous duties of a social season had long since taken themselves
off to the pursuits best suited to their inclinations and livers.
One exception, however, there was to this general rule. A young man of
some thirty years of age, who, seated upon the first step of a series
leading from the terrace to the road, seemed quite content to enjoy the
warmth and sunshine in a purely passive way.
To some of those seated in their invalid-chairs it seemed as if he had
not moved or changed his position for hours, and after a while his
absolute repose rather irritated them.
Nevertheless, he sat there with his elbows resting on his knees and a
cigarette between his lips. The cigarette had long gone out, but to all
appearances he was blissfully unconscious of the fact.
A pair of rather attractive eyes were gazing into space, and at times
there was a fine, sensitive expression about his lips, but the rest of
his features were commonplace, neither good nor bad. His face being
smooth-shaven gave him from a distance a decidedly boyish appearance.
There was something, however, about him which might be termed
interesting, something a trifle different from his neighbors. Even his
clothes had that slight difference that hardly can be explained.
After a while his attention was drawn to a very smart-looking trap, half
dog and half training cart, which for the past fifteen minutes had been
driven up and down by the most diminutive of grooms. Slowly he took in
every detail, the high-actioned hackney, the handsome harness, the
livery of the groom, even the wicker basket under the seat with its
padlock hanging on the hasp. Lazily he attempted to decipher the
monogram on the cart's shining sides, but without success. Five minutes
more passed, and still up and down drove the groom. Was its owner never
coming? he thought. Surely it must be a woman to keep it waiting such a
time. Little by little he became more interested in the vehicle, and
incidentally in its mistress, and he found himself conjecturing as to
what manner of person this was. Was she tall or short, fat or lean, good
figure or bad. On the whole, he thought she must be "horsy." That
probably expressed it all.
How long these conjectures would have lasted it would be hard to say,
had not just then the owner of the trap and horse and diminutive groom
herself put in an appearance. She came out of the hotel entrance drawing
on one tan-colored glove about three times too big for a rather pretty
hand. She wore a light-colored driving-coat which reached to her heels,
and adorned with mother-of-pearl buttons big enough to be used for
saucers. As she passed down the steps he had a good opportunity to take
her in, and when she stopped to give the horse a lump of sugar, a still
better chance for observation was afforded.
He could hardly say whether she was good-looking or not; he was inclined
to think she was. She had a very winning smile--this he noticed as she
gave some instructions to the groom. On the whole his verdict was rather
flattering than otherwise, for she impressed him as being decidedly
smart, and that with him covered a multitude of sins.
At last she took up her skirts and stepped into the cart, gathered up
the lines, and drew the whip from its socket. The groom scrambled up
somehow, and after a little preliminary pawing of the air, the horse and
cart, driver and groom, disappeared down the road.
"Hello, Jack! What are you doing here sitting in the sun? Come along and
have a game of golf with me."
"Thanks! By-the-bye, do you know who that young woman is who has just
driven off?"
"Certainly; Miss Violet Easton, of Washington; very fond of horses;
keeps a lot of hunters; rich as mud. Would you like to know her?"
"Yes. Much obliged for the information. Oh, play golf? No; it's a very
overrated game; you had better count me out this morning."
An hour later, when she returned, had she taken the trouble to notice,
she would have seen him still sitting at the top of the same flight of
steps, seemingly absorbed in nothing.