An infinite serenity was in her atmosphere, a promise of all pure and tender things in her great soft eyes.

The mystery and freshness of the night seemed always to hang about her.

Her ways were noiseless--the most creaking door appeared to forget its irritating habit when under her touch.

Thus it was that John Derringham, smoking a cigar, never even glanced up until a voice of extreme cultivation and softness said gently: "Good morning.

And how are you ?" Then he bounded from his chair, startled a little, and held out his hand.
"My old friend, Miss Halcyone, the Priestess of Truth!" he exclaimed, "as I am alive!" She smiled serenely while they shook hands, and sat down demurely by the Professor's side.
"I thought you would have been translated to Olympus long ago," the visitor said.