Halcyone could pass in any crowd and perhaps no one would ever notice
her and her mouse-like coloring, but once your eye was arrested, then,
like looking at some rare bit of delicate enamel, you began to perceive
undreamed-of graces which soothed the sight until you were filled with
the consciousness of an exquisite beauty as intangible as her other
charm--distinction. An infinite serenity was in her atmosphere, a
promise of all pure and tender things in her great soft eyes. The
mystery and freshness of the night seemed always to hang about her. Her
ways were noiseless--the most creaking door appeared to forget its
irritating habit when under her touch. Thus it was that John Derringham,
smoking a cigar, never even glanced up until a voice of extreme
cultivation and softness said gently:
"Good morning. And how are you?"
Then he bounded from his chair, startled a little, and held out his
hand.
"My old friend, Miss Halcyone, the Priestess of Truth!" he exclaimed,
"as I am alive!"
She smiled serenely while they shook hands, and sat down demurely by the
Professor's side.
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