Oddington laughed.

“It is like most of these cities,” he said; “things get pretty messy here, I imagine.  I could not exactly commend its sanitary—­”

A voice calling him from the window broke the sentence.  It was Reggie Wotherspoon.

“Yes,” said Oddington.

“That you, Ralph?  Oh, I see you.  Say, come in here like a good chap, will you?  I’ve run across a sort of an anarchist circular about Rodriguez.  I want you to come up with me while I put it up to him.”

“All right,” replied Oddington.  “Will you go in, Virginia?”

“Thank you, I’ll wait here for you.  I’ve had enough of that dreary old dinner; at least until father speaks.  And now,” said the girl, smiling at Dan, “what have you to tell me that is thrilling?”

Dan looked at her as she stood framed against the light of the window, tall, straight, in the full glow of youth and health and animal spirits.  One bare arm was stretched down, clutching the train of her dress.  With the other hand she was idly lashing her gloves against her skirt.  As she spoke she reached out a gleaming slipper, extremely small for a girl of her height, to push an overturned flower-pot away, and Dan caught the flash of the silk ankle and a foam of lace.

He felt he was viewing the girl in a new way.  Hitherto he had regarded her as something almost intangible, an essence of elusive femininity, radiant, overpowering, and in nowise to be considered as a material embodiment of young womanhood.

But now, while the old spell was still potent, with the moods of the day still strong, he found new viewpoints struggling for mastery.  Clearly the girl had shown a deep interest in him, and entirely on her own initiative.  If it was to be in the future an interest born of friendship, why, it should be, he told himself, an engaging future for him.  But he did not desire that her interest in him from now on should be offered as a sort of largess, or that he should be placed in the position of posing as an object of merely charitable attention from her.  As these thoughts formulated themselves flashingly in his mind, he could not but marvel at the sudden transition in his attitude concerning her.  But nevertheless, the transition had taken place, as well defined as though it had come of weeks of pondering—­and unchangeable.

“I can’t think of anything thrilling to talk about—­unless I select you as a subject.”

The girl glanced at him swiftly and then turned her face toward the harbor, where a few lights quivered on a velvet floor.  She caught the new note perfectly and her bosom rose in a quick breath.

“I am sure we might select a more interesting topic.  I detest personalities.  Tell me how you have enjoyed your first dip into Blancan society.”

“But that would be personal,” smiled Dan.

The girl laughed.

“The women here to-night are a great deal less dowdy than one would imagine, don’t you think?”