The world even _sees_ so crooked that it _can't_ believe when a thing is just what it is." While watching the butterflies, she had turned away from the artist and, in following their flight with her eyes, had taken a few light steps that brought her into the open, grassy center of the glade.

With her face upturned to the opening in the foliage through which the butterflies had disappeared, she had spoken as if thinking aloud, rather than as addressing her companion.
Before the artist could reply, the beautiful creatures came floating back as they had gone.

With a low exclamation of delight, the girl watched them as they circled, now, above her head, in their aerial waltz among the sunbeams and leafy boughs.

Then the man, watching, saw her--unheeding his presence--stretch her arms upward.

For a moment she stood, lightly poised, and then, with her wide, shining eyes fixed upon those gorgeously winged spirits whirling in the fragrant air, with her lips parted in smiling delight, she danced upon the smooth turf of the glade--every step and movement in perfect harmony with the spirit of care-free abandonment that marked the movements of the butterflies that danced above her head.
Unmindful of the watching man, as her dainty companions themselves,--forgetful of his presence,--she yielded to the impulse to express her emotions in free, rhythmic movement.
Instinctively, Aaron King was silent--standing motionless, as if he feared to startle her into flight.
Suddenly, as the girl danced--her eyes always upon her winged companions--the insects floated above the artist's head, and she became conscious of his presence.