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whisked through Anne’s brain with a suddenness that made her jump. But she did not utter it, for they had reached the Moore house. As they entered the yard Leslie came out on the veranda from the side door, peering through the gloom for some sign of her expected guest. She stood just where the warm yellow light flooded her from the open door. She wore a plain dress of cheap, cream-tinted cotton voile, with the usual girdle of crimson. Leslie was never without her touch of crimson. She had told Anne that she never felt satisfied without a gleam of red somewhere about her, if it were only a flower. To Anne, it always seemed to symbolize Leslie’s glowing, pent-up personality, denied all expression save in that flaming glint. Leslie’s dress was cut a little away at the neck and had short sleeves. Her arms gleamed like ivory-tinted marble. Every exquisite curve of her form was outlined in soft darkness against the light. Her hair shone in it like flame. Beyond her was a purple sky, flowering with stars over the harbour.

Anne heard her companion give a gasp. Even in the dusk she could see the amazement and admiration on his face.

‘Who is that beautiful creature?’ he asked.

‘That is Mrs Moore,’ said Anne. ‘She is very lovely, isn’t she?’

‘I – I never saw anything like her,’ he answered, rather dazedly. ‘I wasn’t prepared – I didn’t expect – good heavens, one doesn’t expect a goddess for a landlady! Why, if she were clothed in a gown of sea-purple, with a rope of amethysts in her hair, she would be a veritable sea-queen. And she takes in boarders!’

‘Even goddesses must live,’ said Anne. ‘And Leslie isn’t a goddess. She’s just a very beautiful woman, as human as the rest of us. Did Miss Bryant tell you about Mr Moore?’

‘Yes – he’s mentally deficient, or something of the sort, isn’t he? But she said nothing about Mrs Moore, and I supposed she’d be the usual hustling country housewife who takes in boarders to earn an honest penny.’

‘Well, that’s just what Leslie is doing,’ said Anne crisply. ‘And it isn’t altogether pleasant for her, either. I hope you won’t mind Dick. If you do, please don’t let Leslie see it. It would hurt her horribly. He’s just a big baby, and sometimes a rather annoying one.’

‘Oh, I won’t mind him. I don’t suppose I’ll be much in the house, anyhow, except for meals. But what a shame it all is! Her life must be a hard one.’

‘It is. But she doesn’t like to be pitied.’

Leslie had gone back into the house and now met them at the front door. She greeted Owen Ford with cold civility, and told him in a business-like tone that his room and his supper were ready for him. Dick, with a pleased grin, shambled upstairs with the valise, and Owen Ford was installed as an inmate of the old house among the willows.

24

THE LIFE-BOOK OF CAPTAIN JIM

‘I have a little brown cocoon of an idea that may possibly expand into a magnificent moth of fulfilment,’ Anne told Gilbert when she reached home. He had returned earlier than she had expected, and was enjoying Susan’s cherry pie. Susan herself hovered in the background, like a rather grim but beneficent guardian spirit, and found as much pleasure in watching Gilbert eat pie as he did in eating it.

‘What is your idea?’ he asked.

‘I shan’t tell you just yet – not till I see if I can bring the thing about.’

‘What sort of a chap is Ford?’

‘Oh, very nice, and quite good-looking.’

‘Such beautiful ears, doctor, dear,’ interjected Susan with a relish.

‘He is about thirty or thirty-five, I think, and he meditates writing a novel. His voice is pleasant and his smile delightful, and he knows how to dress. He looks as if life hadn’t been altogether easy for him, somehow.’

Owen Ford came over the next evening with a note to Anne from Leslie; they spent the sunset-time in the garden and then went for a moonlit sail on the harbour, in the little boat Gilbert had set up for summer outings. They liked Owen immensely and had that feeling of having known him for many years which distinguishes the freemasonry of the house of Joseph. ‘He is as nice as his ears, Mrs Doctor, dear,