Graydon came back with the hope—­nay, almost the certainty—­of happiness glowing in his eyes.  He had spoken confidently of his business plans and prospects, and had touched upon the weariness of his exile and his longing for more satisfactory pleasures than those of general society.  His companion had listened with an attention and interest that promised more than sympathy.  The wild, rugged scenes through which they had passed had made her delicate beauty more exquisite from contrast.  It was as if a rare tropical bird had followed the wake of summer and graced for a time a region from which it must fly with the first breath of autumn.  In distinction from all they saw and met she appeared so fragile, such a charming exotic, that he felt an overpowering impulse to cherish and shelter her from every rude thing in the world.  With a nice blending of reserve and complaisance she appeared to yield to his mood and yet to withhold herself.  To a man of Graydon’s poise and knowledge of society such skilful tactics served their purpose perfectly.  They gave her an additional charm in his eyes, and furnished another proof of the fineness of her nature.  She could not only feel, but manifest the nicest shades of preference.  If not fully satisfied as to her own heart, what could be more refined and graceful than the slight restraint she imposed upon him? and how fine the compliment she paid him in acting on the belief that he was too well bred and self-controlled to precipitate matters!

“She has the tact and intuition to see,” he thought, “that she can show me all the regard she feels and yet incur no danger of premature and incoherent words.  She will one day yield with all the quiet grace that she shows when rising to accept my invitation to waltz.”

Therefore, as he approached the hotel he was complacency itself until he saw Mr. Arnault on the piazza, and then his face darkened with the heaviest of frowns.

“Why, what is the matter?” Miss Wildmere asked.

“I had hoped that this perfect afternoon might be followed by a more delightful evening, but from the manner in which that gentleman is approaching you, it is evident that he expects to claim you.”

“Claim me?  I do not think any one has that right just yet.  Mr. Arnault certainly has not.”

“Then I may still hope for your society this evening?”

“Have I not permitted you to be with me nearly all day?  You must be more reasonable.  Good-evening, Mr. Arnault.  Did you drop from the clouds?”

“There are none, and were there I should forget them in this pleasure.  Mr. Muir, I congratulate you.  We have both been on the road this afternoon, but you have had the advantage of me.”

“And mean to keep it, confound you!” thought Graydon.  “Ah, good-evening, Mr. Arnault.  You are right; I have found rough roads preferable to smooth rails and a palace car.”

“How well you are looking, Miss Stella! but that’s chronic with you.  This is perfectly heavenly” (looking directly into her eyes) “after the heat of the city and my dusty journey.”