Never in his calmest moments had he worn a more insinuating smile on his features than that with which he now greeted Myrtle.  So gentle, so gracious, so full of trust, such a completely natural expression of a kind, genial character did it seem, that to any but an expert it would have appeared impossible that such an effect could be produced by the skilful balancing of half a dozen pairs of little muscles that manage the lips and the corners of the mouth.  The tones of his voice were subdued into accord with the look of his features; his whole manner was fascinating, as far as any conscious effort could make it so.  It was just one of those artificially pleasing effects that so often pass with such as have little experience of life for the genuine expression of character and feeling.  But Myrtle had learned the look that shapes itself on the features of one who loves with a love that seeketh not its own, and she knew the difference between acting and reality.  She met his insinuating approach with a courtesy so carefully ordered that it was of itself a sentence without appeal.  Artful persons often interpret sincere ones by their own standard.  Murray Bradshaw thought little of this somewhat formal address,—­a few minutes would break this thin film to pieces.  He was not only a suitor with a prize to gain, he was a colloquial artist about to employ all the resources of his specialty.

He introduced the conversation in the most natural and easy way, by giving her the message from a former school-mate to which he had referred, coloring it so delicately, as he delivered it, that it became an innocent-looking flattery.  Myrtle found herself in a rose-colored atmosphere, not from Murray Bradshaw’s admiration, as it seemed, but only reflected by his mind from another source.  That was one of his arts, always, if possible, to associate himself incidentally, as it appeared, and unavoidably, with an agreeable impression.

So Myrtle was betrayed into smiling and being pleased before he had said a word about himself or his affairs.  Then he told her of the adventures and labors of his late expedition; of certain evidence which at the very last moment he had unearthed, and which was very probably the turning-point in the case.  He could not help feeling that she must eventually reap some benefit from the good fortune with which his efforts had been attended.  The thought that it might yet be so had been a great source of encouragement to him,—­it would always be a great happiness to him to remember that he had done anything to make her happy.

Myrtle was very glad that he had been so far successful,—­she did not know that it made much difference to her, but she was obliged to him for the desire of serving her that he had expressed.

“My services are always yours, Miss Hazard.  There is no sacrifice I would not willingly make for your benefit.  I have never had but one feeling toward you.  You cannot be ignorant of what that feeling is.”