I myself had
seen him spy out Clair from among crowds of women, watched his eyes lean
on her, on the picturesque brim of her hat and the curling feathers
which insinuated themselves against the contour of her transparent ear,
but had afterwards escaped to avoid participation in Sarah's plot.

"They seemed designed for each other," my sister pursued, "and I
introduced them, quite informally, of course. All the girls had
appropriate cavaliers, and I started some music to give a spurt to the
conversation."

"Music is certainly an excellent dam for discoursive shallows," I
muttered in soliloquy.

"Whether the introduction pleased her or not," she continued, heedless
of my remark, "I could scarcely observe. She is an equable enigma."

"A puzzle that is a wonder rather than a challenge," I agreed. "And
Lorraine?"

"He, with his whole soul--and not a driblet of it as usual--beaming in
his eyes faced her on the ottoman. The light from the hanging lamp
treated him kindly. It threw some ripples on the silvery edge of his
hair, and shrouded the cynical depths of his eyes in pensive shadow."

"If you were a younger woman, Sarah, I should say you were in love with
him yourself."

"You may say what you please. He had dropped his eye-glass--his solace
in boredom, as you know--and was listening, interestedly listening,
while she talked."

"Perhaps you exaggerated his interest?"

"No; there is a way of listening with the eyes as well as with the ears.
I could see his fixed on the lisp dimple as it dipped. Then the music
began; I turned over the leaves, and struggled to applaud, flatter,
question, but my brain was with them."

"Much better have left them alone," I grunted.

"After all, they are your best friends--he is your prince of poets, and
she is your ideal heroine."

"One does not express friendship by laying traps--but go on," I urged,
curious in spite of myself.

"Tea was distributed, and, either from laziness or diplomacy, Philip
never vacated his perch. He sat intently watching her while she dipped
inquiring fingers into each tier of the muffiniere, and piled a huge
meal on the Japanese plate at her elbow. She seemed bent on advertising
a Cassowary digestion."

"An implied antithesis to poetic ideals," I volunteered, to enhance my
sister's discomfiture.

"Perhaps so," owned Sarah, vexedly. "Girls are very contrary. But," she
continued, "he perseveringly looked on with his quaint air of critical
inquiry whil