hair, you're in the sun, and it will warm you. You're sure you're not
cold?"

"Oh, no, I'm quite warm," Toni assured him. "It's only my hair that's
wet, and it won't take long to dry."

While her eyes wandered casually round the room, Herrick took the
opportunity of observing his guest more closely; and his scrutiny
pleased him oddly.

In spite of her ludicrous garb Toni looked quaintly attractive. Her
youth triumphed, as youth always will, over minor drawbacks, and now
that she was warm and dry the colour was coming back to her lips and her
complexion recovering its creamy tone. Even her hair curled bewitchingly
when damp; and Herrick owned that Barry's description of her as a
"pretty kid" had not been wrong.

As for Toni, she was much interested in this sunny, shabby room. The
carpet might be old, beyond spoiling, as its owner described it, but it
was a feast of soft, harmonious colours all the same, and although
faded, its very dimness of hue was a charm. The curtains which hung at
the long windows were of a queer, Persian-looking fabric; and on the
mantelpiece were a dozen little bits of pottery of a greeny-blue tint
which harmonized excellently with the grey-papered walls.

Books there were in plenty, on shelves and tables, even on two of the
chairs; and as she looked about her Toni caught sight of the last number
of the _Bridge_ lying on the low divan as though thrown there by a
reader disturbed in his reading.

Herrick's eyes had followed the direction of hers.

"You recognize your husband's review? You've seen it, of course, this
last number?"

"Yes." She had seen it, though it is to be feared that she had paid it
scant attention.

"It's better than ever this month." He sat down and took up the paper.
"There's a little poem--'Pan-Shapes'--which simply delighted me. Did it
take your fancy, I wonder?"

"I ... I don't think I have read it," she said, wishing suddenly that
she had not been forced to make the admission.

"No? Well it has not been out long." He was turning the pages as he
spoke. "There's something else here--another special article on
Mysticism by Father Garland, which is oddly fascinating. Of course such
a subject, treated by one of the greatest mystics who ever lived, was
bound to be of the highest interest; but I never expected anything quite
so arresting, so satisfying, when I began to read."

He paused, evidently waiting for her to speak; but Toni sat tongue-tied,
miserably consci