SON OF THE WIND
stood on the threshold, she schooled herself to a leisurely saunter. She had not quite the air of a girl curbed and repressed to her good behavior, but more the air of a girl unconsciously holding much in reserve. What the intenser expression. might be one could guess at—but it would be uncertain work. It was her simpler, more exterior self she was giving him now as they walked along the drive. She went in silence a few paces, her lips touched with some amusing thought; then turning to him with the mischievous elation that had first met his eyes when she had entered the dining-room. "I think I have something of yours," she volunteered.
He looked puzzled.
"Didn't you lose something yesterday when you were driving up?"
His hand clapped his watch pocket. "Why I—don't know of anything." He felt quite at sea, though her smiling eyes were accusing him that certainly he must know very well.
She slid her hand into the fold of her skirt where women conceal the mysterious thing they call a pocket. "I felt sure it was yours as soon as I saw you," she said as if there admitted of no doubt on this point. "You came near losing it a second time, too. My pup got it and tried to swallow it." She
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