In the purple distances deer stood at gaze, the air rang with innumerable bird notes, clear and sweet, squirrels chattered, bees hummed, and through the thick leafy roof of the forest the sun showered gold dust.

And Mistress Jocelyn Percy was as merry as the morning.

It was now fourteen days since she and I had first met, and in that time I had found in her thrice that number of moods.

She could be as gay and sweet as the morning, as dark and vengeful as the storms that came up of afternoons, pensive as the twilight, stately as the night,--in her there met a hundred minds.

Also she could be childishly frank--and tell you nothing.
To-day she chose to be gracious.