She was astoundingly fair to look upon—­dazzling, it might be said, with some support to the adjective.  Moreover, she was looking directly into his eyes from her unstable position near the door; what was more, a shy, even mischievous, smile crept into her face as her glance caught his.  Never had he seen a more exquisite face than hers; never had he looked upon a more perfect picture of grace and loveliness and—­aye, smartness.  She was smiling with unmistakable friendliness and recognition, and yet he could have sworn he had not seen her before in his life.  As if he could have forgotten such a face!  A sudden sense of enchantment swept over him, indescribable, yet delicious.

She was coming toward him—­still smiling shyly, her lips parted as if she were breathing quickly from fear or another emotion.  He set down his coffee-cup without regard to taste or direction, his gaze fixed upon the trim, slender figure in blue.  He now saw that her dark eyes were filled with a soft seriousness that belied her brave smile; a delicate pink had come into her clear, high-bred face; the hesitancy of the gentlewoman enveloped her with a mantle that shielded her from any suspicion of boldness.  Brock struggled to his feet, amazement written in his face.

“Good morning, Roxbury,” she said, in the most impersonal of greetings.  Her smile deepened as the blankness increased in his face.  In the most casual, matter-of-fact manner, she appropriated the chair across the table from his.  “Please sit down, Roxy.”

He sat down abruptly.  For a single, tense, abashed moment they looked searchingly into each other’s eyes.

“Are you Raggles?” he asked politely.

“You poor man!” she cried, aghast.  “Raggles is Edith’s French poodle.  Has no one told you of the poodle?” She half whispered this.  He began to adore her at that very moment,—­a circumstance well worth remembering.

“No one has told me of you, for that matter,” he apologised, thrilling with a delight such as he had never known before.  “Would you mind whispering to me just who you are?  Am I supposed to be your father—­or what?”

“It is all so delightfully casual, isn’t it?” she said.  “I daresay they forgot to tell you that you are a man of family.  Didn’t they mention me in any way at all?” She pouted very prettily.

“No, they ignored you and Raggles and Tootles.  Are there any more in my family that I haven’t met?”

“You see, we got to the station quite a bit ahead of Edith.  That’s how you happened to miss meeting us.  We saw you there, however.  I recognised you by your clothes.  You seemed very unhappy.  Oh, I forgot.  You wanted to know who I am.  Well, I am your sister-in-law.”  She ordered coffee and toast while he sat there figuring it out.  When the waiter departed, he leaned forward and said quite frankly,—­

“You’ll pardon me, I’m sure, but I can’t understand how I was so short-sighted as to marry your sister.”