"Good Lord, what would some of the people I know give to belong to--to
own this place!" he said to himself. "To think of that girl living
alone here with her father!"

He was turning away when he heard a slight sound, the great door opened
slowly, and "that girl" came out on to the terrace. She stood for a
moment on the great marble door sill, then she crossed the terrace, and
leaning on the balustrade, looked dreamily at the moonlit view which
lay before her. She could not see Stafford's tall figure, which was
concealed by the shadow of one of the trees; and she thought herself
alone, as usual. Her solitude did not sadden her, she was accustomed to
it; and presently, as if moved by the exquisite beauty of the night,
her lips parted and she half sang, half hummed the jewel song from
"Faust." She had looked beautiful enough in her old riding-habit and
hat, but she seemed a vision of loveliness as she stood in the
moonlight with the old house for a background. There was something
bewitchingly virginal in the rapt and dreamy face with its dark eyes
and long lashes, in the soft, delicately cut lips, the pure ivory
pallor; at the same time something equally bewitching in the modernness
of her dress, which was of soft cream cashmere, made rather long and in
accord with the present fashion; she had placed a rose in the bosom of
her dress and it stood out redly, richly from the soft cream. Her hair
was no longer rough and touzled by the wind, but brushed in rippling
smoothness and coiled in dainty neatness in the nape of her graceful
neck. No wonder Stafford caught his breath, held it, as it were, as he
gazed at the exquisite picture, which formed so striking a contrast to
her surroundings.