was not the hero of her dreams, by a long way. His hair didn't curl;
his nose was not particularly straight; nor were his eyes large and
magnetic. He was not something over six feet two; nor was he dressed in
wonderful clothes into which he might have been poured in liquid form.
He was a cheery, square-shouldered, good-natured looking fellow with
laughter in his gray eyes and a little quizzical smile playing round a
good firm mouth. He looked like a man who ought to have been in the
navy and who, instead, gave the impression of having been born among
horses. His small, dark head was bare; his skin had already caught the
sun, and as he stood in his brown sweater with his hands thrust into
the pockets of his riding breeches, he seemed to her to be just exactly
like the brother that she ought to have had if she had had any luck at
all, and she held out a friendly hand with a comfortable feeling of
absolute security.

With some self-consciousness he took it and bowed with a nice touch of
deference. He tried to hide the catch in his breath and the admiration
in his eyes. "I'm glad it's spring," he said, not knowing quite what he
was saying.

"So am I," said Joan. "Just look at those violets and the way the
leaves are bursting."

"I know. Great, isn't it? Are you going anywhere?"

"No. I've nowhere to go."

"Same here. Let's go together."

And they both laughed, and the squirrel that had come to meet Joan
darted off with a sour look. He had anticipated a fat meal of peanuts.
He was out of it now, he saw, and muttered whatever was the squirrel
equivalent for a swear-word.

The boy and girl took the path that ran round the outskirts of the
wood, swung into step and chimed into the cantata of spring with talk
and laughter.

There had been rather a long silence.

Joan was sitting with her back against the trunk of a fallen tree, with
her hands clasped round her knees. She had tossed her hat aside, and
the sunlight made her thick brown hair gleam like copper. They had come
out at another aerie on the hill, from which a great stretch of open
country could be seen. Her eyes were turned as usual in the direction
of New York, but there was an expression of contentment in them that
would have startled all the old people and things at home.

Martin Gray was lying full stretch on the turf with his elbows up and
his chin on his left fist. He had eyes for nothing but the vivid girl
whom he had found so unexpectedly and who was