"How kind of you to come!" said the rector's wife, rising to greet the girl. "Lady Valescure said she was sure I might write and seek your help for our village revel. She said all sorts of nice things about you, and now I know they are true." So Power was introduced to "Miss Marten," and the girl gave him one of those shy yet delightfully candid glances which he remembered so well in her mother's eyes. "Didn't I meet you recently in the corridor of a hotel at Bournemouth?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "Then you will be surprised to hear that you rather startled me. I thought you were about to fall, and was on the point of catching your arm when you walked away. Then I saw you had a slight limp, and it was that which had probably caused my stupid notion. Wouldn't you have been tremendously astonished if a giddy young person had clutched you suddenly and implored you not to drop at her feet?" "Yet I can well imagine any man, especially a younger sprig than myself, being moved to some such act of homage." She laughed--Nancy again! "There seems to be no end of men in England who can pay neat compliments to a woman," she said. "But you're not an Englishman, Mr. Power. Aren't you a fellow-countryman of mine?" "Yes." "How jolly! People never guess it, but I'm an American; though I can never be President, even if we women get a vote, because I was born in London. But my parents hail from the Silver State." "Where more gold is produced than in any other state of the Union." "Then you know Colorado?" "Yes. Better than that, I knew your mother many years ago, before her marriage." "You knew my mother--in Colorado--on the ranch! Well!" She turned rapidly to her hostess. "Thank you ever so much for inviting me here today. I'll work like a slave for your bazaar. Here is the man I've been aching to meet ever since I was able to talk. Please don't think me rude if I monopolize him all the afternoon. I'm going to take him off to that nice shady seat under the copper beech, and question him until he cries for mercy.... Yes, please. Tea, with sugar and milk, and lots of bread and butter, piled high with Devonshire cream and jam--all the good things! Why, you're a veritable fairy princess. Mr. Power met my mother when she was a girl!... Come along, Mr. Power! No wonder I was inclined to grab you in that corridor. Oh, had I but guessed! I'll never, never distrust intuition again." "To begin with," said Power, as he walked with her across the springy turf with a laden tray in his hands, "in what way did intuition prompt you?"