small, moist ringlets; her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes shone. It was not alone the buffeting of the salt breeze nor the exhilaration of walking against it that had transformed her into something radiantly lovely. From within glowed a strange fire that made her another creature altogether. "Why—why—Marcia!" breathed Sylvia, bewildered. "I've had such a glorious walk, dear!" cried Marcia. "The fog has lifted and the sky is a sheet of amethyst and gold." "Did the men get the boat off?" "Yes. She is floating tranquilly as a dove." "What is her name?" [89] [89] "My Unknown Lady." "Mercy on us! That ought to satisfy even Elisha." "It did," said Marcia. [90] [90] Chapter VIII Sylvia's plans, so well laid and apparently so easy of execution did not, to her chagrin, work out, for instead of awaking and demanding supper Stanley Heath slept without a break until morning. Sylvia's Had not Marcia insisted on leaving her door ajar lest the invalid call, the girl might have slipped down stairs in the darkness and returned the handkerchief. As it was, fate forced her to put it into her bureau drawer and await more favorable opportunity. This, alas, did not come.
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