"But we get there just the same," the same girl retorted.
"And I don't deny it," Dick answered. "But you are not always pretty.
I'll tell you a pretty sight that no one of you can ever present--
Paula, there, with the reins of four slashing horses in her hands, her
foot on the brake, swinging tally-ho along a mountain road."
On a warm morning, in the cool arcade of the great patio, a chance
group of four or five, among whom was Paula, formed about Graham, who
had been reading alone. After a time he returned to his magazine with
such absorption that he forgot those about him until an awareness of
silence penetrated to his consciousness. He looked up. All the others
save Paula had strayed off. He could hear their distant laughter from
across the patio. But Paula! He surprised the look on her face, in her
eyes. It was a look bent on him, concerning him. Doubt, speculation,
almost fear, were in her eyes; and yet, in that swift instant, he had
time to note that it was a look deep and searching--almost, his quick
fancy prompted, the look of one peering into the just-opened book of
fate. Her eyes fluttered and fell, and the color increased in her
cheeks in an unmistakable blush. Twice her lips moved to the verge of
speech; yet, caught so arrantly in the act, she was unable to phrase
any passing thought. Graham saved the painful situation by saying
casually:
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