supple
body, with sloping shoulders and a brown, satin throat. His hair was
thick and wavy, of a fine reddish chestnut; his brows were very
straight and much darker than his hair; and his eyes were large and
grey and meditative. The modelling of chin and jaw was perfect and his
mouth was delicious, being full without pouting, the crimson lips just
softly touching, and curving into finely finished little corners that
narrowly escaped being dimpled.

His attire was a blue cotton shirt and a pair of scanty corduroy
knickerbockers, but he wore it with such an unconscious air of purple
and fine linen that Miss Trevor was tricked into believing him much
better dressed than he really was.

Presently he smiled dreamily, and the smile completed her subjugation.
It was not merely an affair of lip and eye, as are most smiles; it
seemed an illumination of his whole body, as if some lamp had
suddenly burst into flame inside of him, irradiating him from his
chestnut crown to the tips of his unspoiled toes. Best of all, it was
involuntary, born of no external effort or motive, but simply the
outflashing of some wild, delicious thought that was as untrammelled
and freakish as the wind of the sea.

Miss Trevor made up her mind that she must find out all about him, and
she stepped out from the shadows of the rocks into the vivid, eerie
light that was glowing all along the shore. The boy turned his head
and looked at her, first with surprise, then with inquiry, then with
admiration. Miss Trevor, in a white dress with a lace scarf on her
dark, stately head, was well worth admiring. She smiled at him and
Paul smiled back. It was not quite up to his first smile, having more
of the effect of being put on from the outside, but at least it
conveyed the subtly flattering impression that it had been put on
solely for her, and they were as good friends from that moment as if
they had known each other for a hundred years. Miss Trevor had enough
discrimination to realize this and know that she need not waste time
in becoming acquainted.

"I want to know your name and where you live and what you were looking
at beyond the sunset," she said.

"My name is Paul Hubert. I live over there. And I can't tell just what
I saw in the sunset, but when I go home I'm going to write it all in
my foolscap book."

In her surprise over the second clause of his answer, Miss Trevor
forgot, at first, to appreciate the last. "Over there," according to
his gestur