Presently she said she was going, hesitated, looked a very earnest good-bye, and darted away across the park, her hoop over one arm, the crimson roses bobbing above her shoulders.

Something in her flight attracted the errant cat, for she, too, jumped down and bounded after the little flying feet, but, catlike, halted half-way to scratch, and then forgetting what she was about, wandered off toward the Mews again, whence she had been lured by instinctive fascination.
Siward, intensely amused, sat there in the late sunlight which streamed through the park, casting long shadows from the elms and sycamores.

It was that time of the day, just before sunset, when the old square looked to him as he remembered it as a child.

Even the marble arch, pink in the evening sun, did not disturb the harmony of his memories.

He saw his father once more, walking home from down town, tall, slim, laughingly stopping to watch him as he played there with the other children--the nurses, seated in a row, crocheting under the sycamores; he saw the old-fashioned carriage pass, Mockett on the box, Wands beside him, and his pretty mother leaning forward to wave her hand to him as the long-tailed, long-maned horses wheeled into Fifth Avenue.