“I think,” she said slowly, “yes, I know--that is the prettiest thing that has ever been said to me. I thought about you... a little; really more about myself. I haven't recognized myself at all very lately; I suppose it's being home again.” She gazed at him candidly, critically. “You have very unusual eyes,” she remarked unexpectedly; “they are so transparent. Haven't you _anything_ to hide?” “Some chicken feathers,” he affirmed. He grew serious immediately. “Your eyes are like--like--” the name of the flower so lately suggested by her lucid vision had flown his mind. Suspenders, bachelor's suspenders, exclusively occurred to him. “An awfully blue flower,” he temporized. She crossed the room, and bent over the tea roses, freshly placed in the jar by the door. “I must go,” she said, her back to him; “I have been here a terrific length of time... I thought perhaps you'd come in.... Wasn't it shocking of me?” The knowledge that she had considered the possibility of seeing him filled Anthony with incredulous joy. Then, sitting silently, gazing fixedly at the floor, he became acutely miserable at the sudden conviction of his worthlessness; shame prevented him from looking at her--surely she must see that he, Anthony Ball, the unsuccessful, without prospect, the truant from life, was an improper object for her interest. She was so absolutely desirable, so fine. He recalled what she had said on the night of the dance... about constancy: if the single devotion of his life would mean anything to her, he thought grandiloquently, it was hers. He was considering the possibility of telling her this when Ellie unnecessarily returned with a replenished plate. He was grateful when neither included him in the remarks which followed. And he speedily left the room, proceeding to the pavement, where he stood with his palm resting on the flank of her horse. In the slanting rays of the sun the street was a way of gold; when Eliza appeared she was ringed in the molten glory. She placed her heel in his hand, and sprang lightly into the saddle; the horse shied, there was a clatter of hoofs, and she cantered away. Ellie stood on the steps, graceful, unconcerned; he watched until the upright, mounted figure was out of sight, then silently passed his sister into the house. XIII HE was in his room when the familiar formula of a whistled signal sounded from the darkening street. It was Alfred Craik, he recognized the halt ending of the bar; he whistled like an old hinge, Anthony thought impatiently. He made his way to the lawn, and called shortly, over the crumbling iron fence. Alfred Craik was agog with weighty information. “The circus is coming in at three-thirty tomorrow morning,” he announced. “The station agent told me... old Giller's lot on Newberry Street. 'Member last year we had breakfast with the elephant trainer!”