He looked up and saw her standing before him dressed for walking. He did not notice anything she wore but the hat. It was velvet, a full vermilion, with black lace. Such a hat would catch the eye at any distance. It was shamefully bright. No sister of his, no sweetheart of his, should ever wear such a brazen thing. Why, all the people would stare at her! Ah, and well they might stare too, and stare till dark, and find no blemish in that oval face, that rounded, lithe figure. How at a second look the bold colour in the hat triumphed over one's repugnance! He would not dare to let his sister or his sweetheart wear such a thing; they were, or would be, dear to him, and this woman was a mere stranger; in a few days she would pass away out of his sight for ever. Meanwhile, the hat suited the face, and the face suited--heaven. 'Do you like my hat?' she asked, as he rose. 'It is very striking.' 'But do you think it is too violent?' 'No. It is daring--and successful.' 'I am glad you like it. I put it on expressly for you.' 'For me! How could you tell I should like it?' 'Oh, very simply. You are a very transparent man.' 'But how did you find out I should like such a hat?' 'Well, you know that there are two kinds of ways of looking at a picture. The man who has a good eye for drawing looks at a picture bit by bit. The man who has a good eye for colour looks at the picture vaguely. You looked at the pictures here vaguely. Then I knew you had colour. My portrait has never been painted; but they tell me when I wear this hat I am a painting after one Giovanni Bellini, in Venice. Bellini's colour is always right; so a good copy of his ought to be right. I always have a hat like this with me, and when I want to be peculiarly killing I put it on. Does that explain all?' 'May I ask why you wish to be particularly--' He paused. He did not like to use her own word, and he did not like to rebuke her by using another. 'Killing to-day.' She finished the sentence for him. 'Because I am going out with a very handsome man, and I hate playing second fiddle.' She had taken his breath away, and he stared at her in silent wonder. What was she really? There was one obvious answer--the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 'Come,' she said, briskly, 'we are losing time, and I am in a hurry to be there.' When they got out, she took his arm without his offering it. After a while she stopped at the window of a furniture shop, to admire a sideboard. 'What a beautiful sideboard!' she exclaimed. 'Yes,' he said, 'it is very handsome.' 'And what a beautiful pair!' 'Pair of what?' 'Of human beings in the glass.' He raised his eyes and saw the reflection of a tall, squarely-made, light-haired man, with square-cut face and pale, broad forehead, and by the man's side a tall, beautiful woman, after the Giovanni Bellini. 'Are you always so candid, Miss Gordon?' he asked, gravely.