"At worst," he was reflecting, "I can make love to her. They, as a rule,
take kindlily enough to that; and in the exercise of hospitality a host
must go to all lengths to divert his guests. Failure is not
permitted...."
Then She came to him.
She came to him across the trim, cool lawn, leisurely, yet with a
resilient tread that attested the vigor of her slim young body. She was
all in white, diaphanous, ethereal, quite incredibly incredible; but as
she passed through the long shadows of the garden--fire-new, from the
heart of the sunset, Rudolph Musgrave would have sworn to you,--the lacy
folds and furbelows and semi-transparencies that clothed her were now
tinged with gold, and now, as a hedge or flower-bed screened her from
the horizontal rays, were softened into multitudinous graduations of
grays and mauves and violets.
"Failure is not permitted," he was repeating in his soul....
"You're Cousin Rudolph, aren't you?" she asked. "How perfectly
entrancing! You see until to-day I always thought that if I had been
offered the choice between having cousins or appendicitis I would have
preferred to be operated on.
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