Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her face upward, and looked into the happy blue eyes. Marie was indeed a very pretty girl, although not perhaps so superlatively lovely as Alan imagined. Her face would never have launched a thousand ships, or set fire to Troy Town. But her complexion was transparent and as delicately tinted as a rose, with the dewy look, so to speak, of that flower at dawn. Her hair was golden and waved over her white forehead in rebellious little curls. Then she had sapphire eyes and a straight little Greek nose, and two fresh red lips, which seemed to invite the kiss Alan now bestowed. As her figure was wrapped up in a heavy fur cloak of great antiquity, it could not be seen at the moment, but Alan, who was well acquainted with its suave contours, knew that it was the most perfect figure in the three kingdoms, as her hands and feet were the smallest and most well-shaped. But what really drew his heart to Marie was her sweet expression and candid looks. Some women—few, of course—might have possessed Marie’s items of beauty in the shape of form and coloring, but no one, and Alan said this aloud with great decision, ever owned such heavenly smiles or could give such tender glances. Marie sighed and approved of the praise and nestled her head against his rough frieze overcoat. “You always tell the truth, darling,” she said, after he had assured her that she was something higher than an angel. “Always!” Alan kissed her again for the tenth time. “And now I want you to tell me the truth, Marie.” She looked up somewhat puzzled. “About what?” “About the peacock of jewels, which———” The girl drew away from his encircling arm and slipped to the ground. “Why do you want to speak about that?” she asked, standing before him and looking as charming as the Queen of Sheba when she visited Solomon; “it was lost before I was born, and no one ever speaks of it. Except Uncle Ran,” she added with an afterthought, “he loves jewels, as you know, and always regrets the loss, although the peacock belongs to me and not to him.” “Marie,” said Alan again and gravely, “come and sit down, as I have something important to tell you which you must not repeat to your uncle until I give you leave.” “I shall sit here,” said Miss Inderwick, sinking on to the trunk of a fallen tree which was a few feet away, “and I wish you wouldn’t look so solemn or talk about such things. You make me nervous.” “There is nothing to be nervous about, my dear.” “Then why am I not to repeat what you say to Uncle Ran?” demanded Marie in an inconsequent manner. “Because I think if Mr. Sorley got that peacock he would be greedy enough to keep it to himself.” “He couldn’t. It’s mine.” “He would, because he looks upon your property as his own.”