The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1910-09-15
CHAPTER III.
Encounters on Parade.


Flora, before the mirror, gayly stab
bling in her long hat-pins, confessed to
herself that last night had been queer,
as queer as queer could be; but this
morning, luckily was real again. Her
fancy last night had-yes, she was
her. And she turned and held the
hand-mirror high, to be sure of the
line of her tilted hat, gave touch to
the turn of her wide, close belt, f1irt
to the frills of her bodice.
The wind was lightly ruffling and
putting out the muslin curtains of the
windows, and from the garden below
came the long silvery clash of euca-
lyptus leaves. She leaned on the
high window-ledge to look downward
over red roofs, over terraced green,
over steep streets running abruptly
to the broken blue of the bay. She
tried to fancy how Kerr would look
in this morning sun. He seemed to
belong only beneath the high arti-
fetal lights, in the thicker atmosphere
of evening. Would he return again,
with renewed potency, with the same
singular, almost sinister charm, as
wizard who works his will only by
moonlight? When she should see him
again, what, she wondered, would be
his extraordinary mood?
1t was Clara, standing at the foot of
the stairs, who belonged to the morn
ing, so brisk, so fresh, so practical
hand The door, open for her imme-
diate departure, showed, beyond the
descent of marble steps, the landau
glistening black against white pave
ments 1t was unusual for this formal
vehicle to put in an appearance so
early.
Il am going to drive over to the
Purdies'," Clara explained. Il have an
errand there"
Flora smiled at the thought of how
many persons would be having err
rands to the Purdies' now. 1t was re-
freshing to catch Clara in this weak
ness. She felt throb of it herself
when she recalled the breathless mo-
ment at the supper table last even
ing. "Oh that will be a heavenly
drive" she said. please ask me to
go with you. My errand can wait"
"Why, certainly. l should like to
have you," said Clara. But If she had
returned a fiat no." Flora would not
have had a dryer sense of unwelcome.
Still, she had gone too far to retreat
Mischievous reflections of the doc
trine the Englishman had startled her
with the night before flickered in her
mind as they drove from the door
Was this part of "the big red game"
not being accommodating, nor so very
polite? The streets were still wet
with early fog, and, turning in at the
Presidio gate, the expresses dripped
dankly on their heads, and hung out
cobwebs pearled with dew. She was
sure, even under their drippings, that
the "damnable dust" was talive.
Down the broad slopes that were
swept by the drive all was green to
the waters edge. The long line of
barracks, the officers quarters, the
great parade-ground, set in the fiat
land between hills and bay, looked
like a child's toy, pretty and little.
They heard the note Of a bugle, thin
, and silver clear, and they could see
the tiny figures mustefing; but in her
preoccupation it did not occur to
Flora that they were arriving just in
time for parade. But when the car
riage had crossed the viaduct, and
swung them past the acacias, and
around the last white curve into the
white dust of the parade-ground, Clara
turned, as if with fresh idea.
Wouldn't you like to stop and
watch it?''
"Why, yes,' Flora assented. The
brilliance of light and color, the pre-
cision of movement, the sound of the
brasses under the open sky were an
intermezzo in harmony with her spir-
tied mood.
The carriage stopped under the
SCanty shadow of trees that bordered
the walk to the officers quarters
Clara, book in hand, alertly rose.