away, I think I should be saying that to her about you, Floyd."
The soft emotion in Lydia's voice, the gentle, affectionate appeal in her gray eyes were strangely alluring to Floyd; she leaned upon the back of a chair and looked up at him, and in that attitude all that was trustful, loving, and dependent in her nature seemed to shine forth; the eager, mobile face, the flexible, relaxed figure, the slender hands, all had a suggestion that awoke in Floyd a tender sympathy; she was a woman who as time went on would cling more and more caressingly about the man she loved, become more and more a cherished and essential part of his life. Marion appeared in his thoughts as a contrast to this, a firm, erect figure, resolute, uncompromising, independent,—clear-sighted, true, and brave. In all these virtues there was not the appeal to the imagination and sympathy that Lydia could make unconsciously by leaning on a chair and having her unselfish interest in her eyes.
Floyd went away challenging angrily in his heart the sentimental spirit that could so drag him from the path of loyalty. He was glad that Marion was soon to return to Avalon; reinforced by her presence, he felt he could more successfully cope with the unregenerate inclinations of his heart.
The morning after he had seen Lydia, his office boy brought him Stewart's card. "Ask him to come in," said Floyd; and when a moment later Stewart entered, he rose from his desk and held out his hand.
"Lydia told me—I came to offer my congratulations," Stewart said, and though he grasped Floyd's hand warmly enough, there was constraint in his voice and a slight evasiveness in his eyes. "She's a bully girl—and it's what I've been urging you to do for years. I'm awfully glad, Floyd,—and I'll have to write and tell her you're not such a bad fellow really—"
"As you've been telling other people I am?" Floyd could not resist saying, with a good-humored smile.
