And it's stronger, I believe, than the delicacy of most women of our sort." They were sitting now on the bench round the circle where the fountain was tossing high its jets in play with the sunshine.

She was looking very much the woman of the fashionable world, and the soft grays, shading into blues, that dominated her costume gave her an exceeding and entrancing seeming of fragility.

Arkwright thought her eyes wonderful; the sweet, powerful yet delicate odor of the lilac sachet powder with which her every garment was saturated set upon his senses like a love-philter.
"Yes, you are finer and nobler than most women," he said giddily.

"And that's why it distresses me to hear you talk even in jest, as if you could marry Josh." "And a few weeks ago you were suggesting him as just the husband for me." Arkwright was silent.

How could he go on?
How tell her why he had changed without committing himself to her by a proposal?
She was fascinating--would be an ideal wife.