"
Oddington laughed.
"It is like most of these cities," he said; "things get pretty messy
here, I imagine. I could not exactly commend its sanitary--"
A voice calling him from the window broke the sentence. It was Reggie
Wotherspoon.
"Yes," said Oddington.
"That you, Ralph? Oh, I see you. Say, come in here like a good chap,
will you? I've run across a sort of an anarchist circular about
Rodriguez. I want you to come up with me while I put it up to him."
"All right," replied Oddington. "Will you go in, Virginia?"
"Thank you, I'll wait here for you. I've had enough of that dreary old
dinner; at least until father speaks. And now," said the girl, smiling
at Dan, "what have you to tell me that is thrilling?"
Dan looked at her as she stood framed against the light of the window,
tall, straight, in the full glow of youth and health and animal
spirits. One bare arm was stretched down, clutching the train of her
dress. With the other hand she was idly lashing her gloves against her
skirt. As she spoke she reached out a gleaming slipper, extremely
small for a girl of her height, to push an overturned flower-pot away,
and Dan caught the flash of the silk ankle and a foam of lace.
He felt he was viewing the girl in a new way. Hitherto he had regarded
her as something almost intangible, an essence of elusive femininity,
radiant, overpowering, and in nowise to be considered as a material
embodiment of young womanhood.
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