When this idea presented itself, her mind turned instantly to Jim.  Here was a man from the old life, a man reared as they had been reared, a man in no way connected with Thorne.  Jim could help her, if he would, and somehow, Blanche felt assured that he would.

Jim had discovered their presence in the hotel very speedily and had joined the party, glad, with an earnest gladness, to see his old friends again, glad also to meet these new friends who had become associated with the old ones.  Blanche had been attracted by him, as women, children, and dumb animals always were attracted by him; he was strong, and yet very gentle.

She determined to speak to him, to make him understand the position, and to entreat him to exert his influence with Berkeley, and through Berkeley, with Pocahontas, to set this matter straight.  She did not know that she was about to do a cruel thing; was about to stretch a soul on the rack and turn the screws.  That fine reserve which infolded the Masons like a veil precluded gossiping about themselves or their affairs.  Blanche had never heard of Jim as the lover of Pocahontas—­or if she had, it had been in an outside, intangible way that had made no impression on her.

Possessed by her idea, and intent on securing an opportunity for uninterrupted conversation, she asked Jim to take a walk with her.  She had some calls to make, she said, and they would walk through the park.  At this season the park was very beautiful, and she should like to show it to him; New Yorkers were very proud of it.  Blanche knew that she was doing an unconventional thing; but she had observed, rather wonderingly, the frank helpfulness with which Southerners would identify themselves with each others’ affairs, and she felt sure that in speaking to Jim she ran little risk of rebuff.  Jim had known the Masons always, was of their blood; to put his shoulder to their wheel would seem to him the right, and natural thing to do.  Therefore Blanche made her request with confidence, and Jim, who had never in his life questioned a woman’s right to his time and attention, went with her willingly.

They sauntered about for a time and Jim admired all the beauties that were pointed out to him, and showed his country training by pointing out in his turn, subtler beauties which escaped her; the delicate shading of bark and leaf-bud, the blending of the colors of the soil, the way the shadows fell, the thousand and one things an artist, or a man reared in the woods and fields, is quick to see, if he has eyes in his head.  He pointed out to her a nest a pair of birds were building, and called her attention to a tiny squirrel, with a plume-like tail, jumping about among the branches overhead.  He told her stories of the tropics, too, and of the strange picturesque life in the land of the Montezumas, and made himself pleasant in a cheery, companionable way that was very winning.  He was pleased with Blanche, and thought that his old friend had done well for himself in securing the love of the sweet-faced maiden at his side.  He liked talking to her, and walking beside her in the sunshine; he decided that “Berke was a deuced lucky fellow, and had fallen on his feet,” and he was glad of it.