“And what can I do for you—before you leave?” said Sedgwick significantly. “Take a little walk with me presently,” said the man in another voice, brushing the hat clear of his face. “Kent!” exclaimed the artist. “Well, you appear surprised. What kind of artist are you, not to recognize a man simply because he shaves his beard and affects a false voice?” “But you’re so completely changed. And why this disguise?” “Disguise?” returned the other, astonished in his turn. “I’m not in disguise.” “Your clothes. They’re—well, except for being offensive, I’d call them foppish.” “Not at all!” protested the other warmly. “Just because I’m a scientific man, is it to be assumed that I ought to be a frump? I’m fond of good clothes; I can afford good clothes; I wear good clothes. It’s a hobby of mine; but I deny that it is a weakness.” “Of course not,” assented the other, somewhat amused. “By the way, though, your socks and tie don’t match.” “They do, absolutely,” replied the other with asperity. “Perhaps in fact; but not in effect. In matching smooth silk with ribbed silk, you should get the latter one shade lighter.” “Is that so?” said Kent with interest. “You’ve told me something I never knew. I’ll remember that. Now I’ll trouble you to tell me some more things.” “While taking that walk you spoke of?” “That comes later. I’ve read your story.” “Already?” “Already! Do you know it’s ten o’clock? However, it’s a good story.” “Thank you.” “As a story. As information, it leaves out most of the important points.” “Thank you again.” “You’re welcome. Color, size, and trappings of the horse?” “I didn’t notice particularly. Black, I think; yes, certainly, black. Rather a large horse. That’s all I can tell you.” “Humph! Color, size, and trappings of the rider?” “Reddish brown hair with a gloss like a butterfly’s wing,” said the artist with enthusiasm; “deep hazel eyes; clear sun-browned skin; tall—I should say quite tall—but so—so feminine that you wouldn’t realize her tallness. She was dressed in a light brown riding costume, with a toque hat, very simple, tan gauntlets, and tan boots; that is, the first time I saw her. The next time—” “Hold on! A dressmaker’s catalogue is no good to me. I couldn’t remember it all. Was she in riding clothes on any of her later visits?” “No.” “Any scars or marks?” “Certainly not!” “That’s a pity; although you seem to think otherwise. Age?” “We—ell, twenty, perhaps.” “Add five. Say twenty-five.” “What for?” demanded Sedgwick indignantly. “I’m allowing for the discount of romance. Did you notice her boots?” “Not particularly; except that she was always spick and span from head to foot.” “Humph! Was it pretty warm the last week she called on you?” “Piping!” “Did she show it?” “Never a bit. Always looked fresh as a flower.”