per,
would have served all his, or at least all your purpose, and you would
have vaguely supposed the number high--somewhere up in the millions. As
every copy of the newspaper answers to its name, Miss Dosson's visitor
would have been quite adequately marked as "young commercial American."
Let me add that among the accidents of his appearance was that of its
sometimes striking other young commercial Americans as fine. He was
twenty-seven years old and had a small square head, a light grey
overcoat and in his right forefinger a curious natural crook which might
have availed, under pressure, to identify him. But for the convenience
of society he ought always to have worn something conspicuous--a green
hat or a yellow necktie. His undertaking was to obtain material in
Europe for an American "society-paper."

If it be objected to all this that when Francie Dosson at last came in
she addressed him as if she easily placed him, the answer is that she
had been notified by her father--and more punctually than was indicated
by the manner of her response. "Well, the way you DO turn up," she said,
smiling and holding out her left hand to him: in the other hand, or the
hollow of her slim right arm, she had a lumpish parcel. Though she had
made him wait she was clearly very glad to see him there; and she as
evidently required and enjoyed a great deal of that sort of indulgence.
Her sister's attitude would have told you so even if her own appearance
had not. There was that in her manner to the young man--a perceptible
but indefinable shade--which seemed to legitimate the oddity of his
having asked in particular for her, asked as if he wished to see her to
the exclusion of her father and sister: the note of a special pleasure
which might have implied a special relation. And yet a spectator looking
from Mr. George Flack to Miss Francie Dosson would have been much at a
loss to guess what special relation could exist between them. The girl
was exceedingly, extraordinarily pretty, all exempt from traceable
likeness to her sister; and there was a brightness in her--a still
and scattered radiance--which was quite distinct from what is called
animation. Rather tall than short, fine slender erect, with an airy
lightness of hand and foot, she yet gave no impression of quick
movement, of abundant chatter, of excitable nerves and irrepressible
life--no hint of arriving at her typical American grace in the most
usual way. She was pretty without em