Her spring dress--she was wearing it for the first time--was of a pale green, suggesting the draperies of islands of enchantment.

Its lines coincided with the lines of her figure.

Her hat, trimmed to match, formed a magic halo for her hair; and it, in turn, was the entrancing frame in which her small, quiet, pallid face was set--that delicate, sensitive face, from which shone, now softly and now brilliantly, those hazel eyes a painter could have borrowed for a wood nymph.

In the doorway, before greeting him, she paused.
"Williams," she called, and Craig was thrilled by her "high-bred" accent, that seemed to him to make of the English language a medium different from the one he used and heard out home.
"Yes, ma'am," came the answer in the subtly-deferential tone of the aristocracy of menialdom, conjuring for Craig, with the aid of the woman herself and that aristocratic old room, a complete picture of the life of upper-class splendor.
"Did you order the carriage, as I asked ?" "Yes, ma'am; it's at the door." "Thank you." And Margaret turned upon an overwhelmed and dazzled Craig.
He did not dream that she had calculated it all with a view to impressing him--and, if he had, the effect would hardly have been lessened.

Whether planned or not, were not toilette and accent, and butler and carriage, all realities?
Nor did he suspect shrewd calculations upon snobbishness when she said: "I was in such haste to dress that I hurt my poor maid's hand as she was lacing my boot"-- she thrust out one slender, elegantly-clad foot--"no, buttoning it, I mean." Oh, these ladies, these ladies of the new world--and the old--that are so used to maids and carriages and being waited upon that they no more think of display in connection with them than one would think of boasting two legs or two eyes! The advantage from being in the act of putting on gloves began at the very outset.