he maids," spoke of the
"washwoman" instead of the "laundress," and, as did her father, called
the man who took care of the grounds, ran the furnace, and drove the
Emery's comfortable surrey, the "hired man" instead of the "gardener" or
the "coachman," or, in Mrs. Emery's elegantly indefinite phrase, "our
man."

Lydia explained this whimsical reaction rather incoherently by saying
that those nice old words were so much more fun than the others, and in
spite of remonstrance she clung to her fancy with so lightly laughing an
obstinacy that neither she nor anyone suspected it of being a surface
indication of a significant tendency.

She had occasionally other droll little ways of differing from the
family, which were called indulgently "Lydia's notions." Her mother
would certainly have thus named this flight out into the early morning.
She would have found extravagant, and a little disconcerting, the
completeness of Lydia's content in so simple a thing as standing in the
first sunshine of an early morning in September, and she would have
been unquestionably disturbed, perhaps even a little alarmed, by the
beatific expression of Lydia's face as she gazed fixedly up into the
sky, the tempered radiance of which was as yet not too bright for her
clear gaze.

All the restless joy of a few minutes before, which had driven her about
from one delight to another, fused under the sun's first warmth into a
trance-like quiet. She stood still in the sunshine, a slow flush, like a
reflection of dawn, rising to her cheeks, her lips parted, her eyes
bright and vacant. An old person coming upon her at this moment would
have been painfully moved by that tragic pity which age feels for the
unreasoning joy of youth. She looked a child, open-eyed and breathless
before the fleeting beauties of a bubble, most iridescent when about to
disappear.

It was a man by no means old who swung suddenly into sight around the
corner, walking swiftly and noiselessly upon the close-cut grass, and
the startled expression with which he found himself close to Lydia was
by no means one of pity. He fell back a step, and in the instant before
the girl was aware of his presence his gaze upon her was that of a man
dazzled by an incredible vision.

She brought her eyes down to him, and for the space of a breath the
expression was hers as well. The sunlight glowing about them seemed the
reflection of their faces. Then, for a moment longer, though mutual
recognit