She struck, all vibrant with youth, the one poetic note that was hidden in his character behind vanity and sloth, cynicism and the ingrained belief that whatever he desired he must have.

And as he drove away from Easthampton and the Hosack house he left behind him Alice and all that she was and meant.

She receded from his mind like the white cliffs of a shore to which he never intended to return.

He was happier than he had ever been.

In his curious exaltation, life, with its tips and downs, its pettiness, its monotony, lay far below him, as the moving panorama of land does to a flying man.