He came into the house each day in his khaki as if khaki were a shining thing.

When he laughed, or sat and smiled, or dreamed--forgetting she was there--her very heart quaked with delight in him.

Another woman than Robin counted over his charms and made a tender list of them, wondering at each one.
As a young male pheasant in mating time dons finer gloss and brilliancy of plumage, perhaps he too bloomed and all unconscious developed added colour and inches and gallant swing of tread.

As people turned half astart to look at Robin bending over her desk or walking about among them in her modest dress, so also did they turn to look after him as he went in springing march along the streets.
"Some day he will begin to tell me," Helen used to say to herself at night.

"He may only _begin_--but perhaps it will be to-morrow." It was not, however, to-morrow--or to-morrow.