But these told her nothing, except that the man was a student; and this she had heard before.

So she gave her attention to Ashton-Kirk himself.  He stood by the open window, the morning light beating strongly upon his dark, keen face, apparently watching the uncouth surging in the street below.

“He’s very handsome and very wealthy,” her friend Connie Bayless had informed her only that morning.  “Comes of a very old family; has the entree into the most exclusive houses, but practically ignores society.”

“Oh, yes, I know him,” her uncle, an eminent attorney, had told her.  “A very unusual young man.  I might call him acutely intellectual, and he is an adept in many out of the way branches of knowledge.  He would make a wonderful lawyer, but has too much imagination.  Thinks more of visionary probabilities than of tangible facts.”

“As an amateur actor,” Pendleton had confided to her, “Kirk is without an equal.  If he adopted the stage, he’d make a sensation.  At college he was a most tremendous athlete too—­football, cross-country running, wrestling, boxing.  And I’m told that he still keeps in training.  Clever chap.”

“I never saw a more splendid natural equipment for languages,” said Professor Hutchinson.  “The most sprawling dialect seemed a simple matter to him; Greek and the oriental tongues were no more trouble in his case than the ‘first reader’ is to an intelligent child.”

She had spoken with Mrs. Stokes-Corbin over the telephone.  Mrs. Stokes-Corbin was related to Ashton-Kirk, and her information was kindly but emphatic.

“My dear,” said the lady, “I do hope you haven’t fallen in love with him.  No?  Well, that’s fortunate.  He’s one of the dearest fellows in the world, but one of the most extraordinary.  I can’t fancy his marrying at all.  His ways and moods and really preposterous habits would drive a wife mad.  You can’t imagine the extent of them.  He spends days and nights in positively uncanny chemical experiments.  Without a word to anyone he plunges off on some mysterious errand, to be gone for weeks.  They do tell me that he is to all intents and purposes a policeman.  But I really can’t quite credit that, you know.  He loves to do things that others have tried and failed.  Even as a boy he was that way.  It was quite discouraging to have a child straighten out little happenings that we had all given up in despair.  Sometimes it was quite convenient, but I’m not sure that I ever liked it.  A charming talker, my dear; he knows so much to talk about.  But he’s eccentric; and an eccentric young man is a frightful burden to those connected with him.”

All these things passed through the mind of Edyth Vale, as she sat regarding the young man at the window.  Finally he lifted his eyes and turned them upon her—­beautiful eyes—­remarkable, full of perception, compelling.  As he caught her intent, inquiring look, he smiled; she colored slightly, but met his glance bravely.