Once past the bridge and with only a single winding of the brook between him and the lotus pool, Ethan trailed his paddle for a moment while he asked himself whether he really expected to find the girl waiting for him. Of course he didn’t, only――well, there was just a chance――――! Nonsense; there was not the ghost of a chance! Oh, very well; at least there was no harm in his paddling to the lotus pool――barring that he was trespassing! He smiled at that. He smiled at it several times, for some reason or other. Then he dipped his paddle again and sent the “Good Fortune” gliding swiftly over the sunlit water of the pond. And when he looked there she was, seated on the bank, just as――and he realized it now――he had expected all along that she would be! [Illustration] But it was not Clytie he saw; not unless the fashions have changed considerably and water-nymphs may wear with perfect propriety white shirtwaist suits and tan shoes. It was not impossible, he reasoned; for all he knew to the contrary, the July number of the Goddesses’ Home Journal――doubtless edited by Minerva――might prescribe just such garments for informal morning wear. At all events, being less _bizarre_ than the flowing peplum of yesterday, Ethan――whose tastes in attire were quite orthodox――liked it far better. The effect was quite different, too. Yesterday she might have been Clytie; to-day reason cried out against any such possibility; she was a very modern-appearing and extremely charming young lady of, apparently, twenty or twenty-one years of age, with a face, at present seen in profile, piquant rather than beautiful. The nose was small and delicate, the mouth, under a short lip, had the least bit of a pout and the chin was softly round and sensitive. This morning she wore her hair in a pompadour, while at the back the thick braids started low on her neck and coiled around and around in a perfectly delightful and absolutely puzzling fashion. Ethan liked her hair immensely. It was light brown, with coppery tones where the sunlight became entangled. She was seated on the sloping bank, her hands clasped about her knees and her gaze turned dreamily toward the cascade which sparkled and tinkled at the upper curve of the pool. As the canoe had made almost no sound in its approach, she was, of course, ignorant of Ethan’s presence. And yet it may be mentioned as an interesting if unimportant fact that as he gazed at her for the space of half a minute a rosy tinge, all unobserved of him, crept into her cheeks. He laid his paddle softly across the canoe, and,―――― “Greetings, O Clytie!” he said. She turned to him startledly. A little smile quivered about her lips. “Good morning, Vertumnus,” she answered. Perhaps his gaze showed a trifle too much interest, for after a brief instant hers stole away. He picked up the paddle and moved the canoe closer to the shore. “I’m very glad to find you have not yet taken root,” he said gravely. “Taken root?” she echoed vaguely.