CHAPTER II.
THE PASSION-FLOWER "Where's that Columbine ?" said Mrs.Peck.
A gay trill like the call of a blackbird in the dawning answered her.
Columbine, with a pink sun-bonnet over her black hair, was watering the flowers in the little conservatory that led out of the drawing-room.

She had just come in from the garden, and a gorgeous red rose was pinned upon her breast.

Mrs.Peck stood in the doorway and watched her.
The face above the red rose was so lovely that even her matter-of-fact soul had to pause to admire.

It was a perpetual wonder to her and a perpetual fascination.

The dark, unawakened eyes, the long, perfect brows, the deep, rich colouring, all combined to make such a picture as good Mrs.Peck realised to be superb.
Again the pure contralto trill came from the red lips, and then, with a sudden movement that had in it something of the grace of an alighting bird, Columbine turned, swinging her empty can.
"I've promised to take Mr.Knight to the Spear Point Caves by moonlight," she said.