She had imagined a personality that was striking, spectacular, or at least interesting; and the actual Gideon Vetch had seemed to her merely unimpressive and ordinary.

Beside John Benham (as the thought of Benham returned to her, her spirit rose on wings out of the shadow), beside John Benham, in the drawing-room after dinner, Vetch had appeared at a disadvantage that was almost ridiculous; and, as Stephen Culpeper had hastened to point out, this was merely a striking illustration of the damning contrast between the Governor's chequered political career and Benham's stainless record of service.
A smile curved her lips as she gazed at the quivering sunbeams.

Was that deep instinct for perfection, the romantic vision of things as they ought to be, awaking again?
Did the starry flower bloom not in the dream, but in reality?
The passion to create beauty, to bring happiness, which had been extinguished for years, burned afresh in her heart.

Yes, as long as there was beauty, as long as there was nobility of spirit, she could fight on as one who believed in the future.
A shadow darkened the window, and a moment afterward there was a fall of the old silver knocker on her door.

She thought at first--the shadow had seemed so young--that it was Stephen; but when she opened the door, she saw, with a lovely flush, that it was John Benham.
"You expected me ?" he asked, raising her hand to his lips.
"Yes, I knew that you would come," she answered, and the flush died away slowly as she turned back to the fire.