a halo of feathery, gold-colored plumes, the soft, fine, supple
broadcloth of her garments gleaming in the sunshine with a sheen like
that of a well-kept animal's coat. There breathed from all her person
a faint odor of grace and violets and unhurried leisure.

Sylvia clung close to her side, taking in through all her pores this
lovely emanation, not noticing whether they were talking or not, not
heeding the direction of their steps. She was quite astonished to find
herself on the University campus, in front of the Main Building. Aunt
Victoria had never walked so far before. "Oh, did you want to see
Father?" she asked, coming a little to herself.

Mrs. Marshall-Smith said, as if in answer, "Just sit down here and
wait for me a minute, will you, Sylvia?" moving thereupon up the steps
and disappearing through the wide front door. Sylvia relapsed into
her day-dreams and, motionless in a pool of sunlight, waited, quite
unconscious of the passage of time.

This long reverie was at last broken by the return of Mrs.
Marshall-Smith. She was not alone, but the radiant young man who
walked beside her was not her brother, and nothing could have
differed more from the brilliantly hard gaze which Professor Marshall
habitually bent on his sister, than the soft intentness with which
young Mr. Saunders regarded the ripely beautiful woman. The dazzled
expression of his eyes was one of the remembered factors of the day
for Sylvia.

The two walked down the shaded steps, Sylvia watching them admiringly,
the scene forever printed on her memory, and emerged into the pool of
sunshine where she sat, swinging her legs from the bench. They stood