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That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame, Just at this moment a light step running up the stairs outside and across the veranda makes itself heard. Every one looks expectant, and the slight displeasure dies out of Geoffrey's face. A slender, graceful figure appears at the window, and taps lightly. "Very," returns he, surprised. He has not thought of her as one versed in lore of any kind. "What poets do you prefer?".
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"Free-and-easy-going would be a more appropriate term, from all I have heard." She is plainly quite enchanted with the sensation she is creating, though she is far from comprehending how complete that sensation is. Something in her expression appeals to Doatie's heart and makes her involuntarily go closer to her. Her face is transfigured. It is full of love and unselfish joy and happy exultation: always lovely, there is at this moment something divine about her beauty. "I am glad you have at last deigned to take some small notice of me," says he, with a faint touch of pique in his tone. And then, looking at him again, she sees it is the young man who had nearly ridden over her some time ago, and tells herself she has been just a little rude to his Grace the Duke of Lauderdale. "Is it worth so much thought?" he says, bitterly. "It surely will not injure you fatally to lay your hand in mine for one instant.".
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