He had to meet her gaze now, however.
"I put off telling you," he began lamely.
"So that this evening of mine with you might not be spoilt," she returned.

"But, my dear, my evening was already spoilt before the launch left the yacht gangway.

I am not so blind." Stella Croyle was at this date twenty-six years old; and it was difficult to picture her any older.

Partly because of her vivid colouring and because she was abrim with life; partly because in her straightness of limb and the clear treble of her voice, she was boyish.
"What a pretty boy she would make!" was the first thought until you noticed the slim delicacy of her hands and feet, the burnish of gold on the dark wealth of her hair, the fine chiselling of brow and nose and chin.

Then it was seen that she was all woman.