Here is no mystery.  Joe was probably the only person of respectable derivation in Canaan who had not known for weeks that Ariel Tabor was on her way home.  And the news that she had arrived the night before had been widely disseminated on the way to church, entering church, in church (even so!), and coming out of church.  An account of her house in the Avenue Henri Martin, and of her portrait in the Salon—­a mysterious business to many, and not lacking in grandeur for that!—­had occupied two columns in the Tocsin, on a day, some months before, when Joe had found himself inimically head-lined on the first page, and had dropped the paper without reading further.  Ariel’s name had been in the mouth of Canaan for a long time; unfortunately for Joe, however, not in the mouth of that Canaan which held converse with him.

Joe had not known her.  The women recognized her, infallibly, at first glance; even those who had quite forgotten her.  And the women told their men.  Hence the un-Sunday-like demeanor of the procession, for few towns hold it more unseemly to stand and stare at passers-by, especially on the Sabbath.—­But Ariel Tabor returned—­and walking with—­with Joe Louden! . . .

A low but increasing murmur followed the two as they proceeded.  It ran up the street ahead of them; people turned to look back and paused, so that they had to walk round one or two groups.  They had, also, to walk round Norbert Flitcroft, which was very like walking round a group.  He was one of the few (he was waddling home alone) who did not identify Miss Tabor, and her effect upon him was extraordinary.  His mouth opened and he gazed stodgily, his widening eyes like sun-dogs coming out of a fog.  He did not recognize her escort; did not see him at all until they had passed, after which Mr. Flitcroft experienced a few moments of trance; came out of it stricken through and through; felt nervously of his tie; resolutely fell in behind the heeling mongrel and followed, at a distance of some forty paces, determined to learn what household this heavenly visitor honored, and thrilling with the intention to please that same household with his own presence as soon and as often as possible.

Ariel flushed a little when she perceived the extent of their conspicuousness; but it was not the blush that Joe remembered had reddened the tanned skin of old; for her brownness had gone long ago, though it had not left her merely pink and white.  This was a delicate rosiness rising from her cheeks to her temples as the earliest dawn rises.  If there had been many words left in Joe, he would have called it a divine blush; it fascinated him, and if anything could have deepened the glamour about her, it would have been this blush.  He did not understand it, but when he saw it he stumbled.

Those who gaped and stared were for him only blurs in the background; truly, he saw “men as trees walking”; and when it became necessary to step out to the curb in passing some clump of people, it was to him as if Ariel and he, enchantedly alone, were working their way through underbrush in the woods.