The two young people bowed,—the man lifting his hat and making a deep obeisance, the girl moving her graceful head perhaps a quarter of an inch, and looking with an air of composed observance into the face of the dark, striking-looking stranger. Whether he chose to admit it to Mrs. Craig or not, Larkington was much impressed with the beauty of Gladys Carleton. He instinctively compared her to the Arab mare which had borne him many miles over the deserts of Syria, and which he had cared for rather more than for any other living creature.
She was tall, straight as an arrow, and slender, long-limbed, with a small, round waist, wide shoulders, and full, classic bust, carefully displayed by the close-fitting dress of dark-blue foulard, fastened at the throat with a pair of deep sapphire buttons. Her head was magnificently set on her shoulders, and its poise was, to quote the phrase Larkington had used, "half arrogant and wholly fetching." The head itself was small, and,
