True beauty in a woman is something far deeper, far less tangible than mere perfection of feature.  One grows unutterably weary of the Venus de Milo type of face, with its expressionless perfection.  And yet, so careless is nature that not twice in a lifetime does one see a woman’s face in which are combined fineness of intelligence and of character, and beauty of feature.  But Diana was the thrice fortunate possessor of this combination.  She was so lovely that one’s heart ached while it exulted in looking at her.  For it seemed a tragic thing that beauty so deep and so rare should embody itself in a form so ephemeral as the human body.

She was very slender.  She was very erect.  Her small head with the masses of light brown hair shining beneath the simple hat, was held proudly.  Yet there was a matchless simplicity and lack of self-consciousness about Diana that impressed even the careless observer:  if there was a careless observer of Diana!

Enoch stood beside his desk in his usual dignified calm.  His keen eyes swept Diana from head to foot.

“You are kind to see me so quickly, Mr. Secretary,” said Diana, holding out her hand.

Enoch smiled, but only slightly.  It seemed to Diana that she never had seen so young a man with so stern a face.

“You must have arrived on the same train with your father’s note, Miss Allen.  Is this your first trip east?”

“Yes, Mr. Huntingdon,” replied Diana, sinking into the chair opposite Enoch’s.  “If he had had his way, bless his heart, I wouldn’t have had even a first trip.  Isn’t it strange that he should have such an antipathy to New York and Washington!”

The Secretary looked at the girl thoughtfully.  “As I recall your father, he usually had a good reason for whatever he felt or did.  You’re planning to stay in Washington, are you, Miss Allen?”

“If I can get work in the Indian Bureau!” replied Diana.

“Why the Indian Bureau?” asked Enoch.

“I’m a photographer of Indians,” answered Diana simply.  “I’ve been engaged for years in trying to make a lasting pictorial record of the Indians and their ways.  I’ve reached the limit of what I can do without access to records and books and I can’t afford a year of study in Washington unless I work.  That’s why I want work in the Indian Bureau.  Killing two birds with one stone, Mr. Secretary.”

Enoch did not shift his thoughtful gaze from the sweet face opposite his for a long moment after she had ceased to speak.  Then he pressed the desk button and Abbott appeared.  He glanced at his chief, then his eyes fastened themselves on Diana’s profile.

“Mr. Abbott, will you ask the Commissioner of Indian Affairs to come in?  I believe he is with the Assistant Secretary this morning.”

Charley nodded and disappeared.

“I brought a little portfolio of some of my prints,” Diana spoke hesitatingly.  “I left them in the other room.  Mr. Abbott thought you might like to see them, but perhaps—­you seem so very busy and I think there must be at least a thousand people waiting to see you!”