The array of hard-faced little girls daunted her; she turned to the boys, but she only saw one--the little hatless, coatless scarecrow with the perfect features And arresting grace, who stood out among his smug companions with the singularly vivid incongruity of a Greek Hermes in the central hall of Madame Tussaud's waxwork exhibition.

Fascinated, she strayed down the line toward him.

She halted, looked for a second or two into a pair of liquid black eyes and then blushed in agonized shyness.

She stared at the beautiful boy, and the beautiful boy stared at her, and not a word could she find in her head to speak.

She turned abruptly and moved away.