Often, too, she paused to
listen, as if for any chance approaching step--appearing, to the fancy of
the man, as some creature from another world--poised lightly, ready to
vanish if any rude observer came too near. Soon,--after a cautious,
hesitating, listening look about,--she slipped, swift footed as a fawn,
across the garden, and--followed by the dog--disappeared into the latticed
rose-covered arbor against the southern wall.
With a chuckle to himself, Conrad Lagrange crept quietly along the hedge
to the door of her retreat.
When she saw him there, she gave a little cry and started as though to
escape. But the novelist, smiling barred her way; while Czar, joyfully
greeting his master, turned from the man to the girl and back to the man
again, as if, by dividing his attention equally between the two, he was
bent upon assuring each that the other was a friend of the right sort.
There was no mistaking the facts that the dog was introducing them, and
that he was as proud of his new acquaintance as he was pleased to present
his older and more intimate companion.
A sunny smile broke over the girl's winsome face, as she caught the
meaning of Czar's behavior. "O," she said, "are you his master?" Her
manner was as natural and unrestrained as a child's--her voice, musically
sweet and low, as one unaccustomed to the speech of noisy, crowded cities
or shrill chattering crowds.
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