"Poof!" Jean blew disdain from pursed-up lips. "So much for you. If you are so clever at remembering, tell me something about Vanna as she was at that time. She was there that day--quite close to me. What was she like?" Piers looked across to where Vanna sat, and, for the first time in the short history of their acquaintance, their eyes met with smiling ease and friendliness. Each felt a sense of relief to see the other in happier mood, and with it an increased appreciation of the other's charm. "If he were always happy, how handsome he would be!" "She is charming when she smiles. She should always smile!" "So we are old friends, Miss Strangeways. We have Jean's word for it, so it must be true. My memory is not very clear. Let me think. I was a woodcutter with a long grey beard. I must have looked rather striking in a beard. And I invaded Jean's glade with intent to kill, and made your acquaintance there. What can you have been? Not a nymph, I think; perhaps a flower--" Vanna lifted a protesting hand. Whence came this sudden tide of happiness; this swift rush of blood through the veins? The last year's burden of sorrow had weighed heavily upon her shoulders; the Harley Street interview had seemed to put a definite end to youth and joy; but now suddenly, unreasonably, the mist lifted, she knew a feeling not only of mental but of actual physical lightness; hard-won composure gave place to the old gay impulse toward laughter and merriment. "No--no. I guess what you are going to say; but spare me, I pray you! I was _not_ `a violet by a mossy dell.' It is the inevitable comparison, but it does _not_ apply. Whatever I was, I am sure I was never content to nestle in that mossy bed." Piers Rendall looked at her reflectively, the smile still lingering round his mouth. "No-o," he said slowly. "I should not think the violet was exactly your counterpart. We must leave it to Jean--" "She was a Scotch fir," said Jean firmly. "She stood up straight and stiff against the sky, and there were little sharp spikes on her boughs, and if you ran against her, she pricked; but when the storms came, and the aspens bent and swayed, she stood firm, and the little needles fell on the ground, and made a soft, soft bed, and we lay there sheltered, and slept till the storm passed by. There! You never knew how poetic I could be. I'm quite exhausted with the effort, and so sleepy! I positively must have a nap. Run away, you two! Explore the glen for half an hour, and leave me in peace. If there's one thing in the world I adore, it's sleeping out-of-doors."