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" He glanced down at her stocking of thin gray
silk. "But I thought even then there were bandages."
She smiled archly--he felt that he wanted to slap her--and glanced up at
him with playful concern. The gray-green rays were brighter in the
daylight than he had remembered them and her mocking lips were the
colour of cherries. He thought of the thin pink curve of Margaret's
mouth and wondered if the war had corrupted his taste.
Yes, Margaret was womanly; she was well bred; she possessed every
attribute that in theory he admired; yet she had never awakened this
sparkling interest, this attraction which was pungently flavoured with
surprise that he could be so strangely attracted. He could gaze unmoved
by the hour on Margaret's smooth loveliness; but the tantalizing vision
of this other girl's face, of her cloudy black hair and her clear skin
and her changeable eyes, with their misty gleam like a firefly lost in a
spring marsh--all these things were a part not of the tedious actuality,
but of that hidden country of romance and adventure.


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