Bryce had travelled in the same car with the Highest Living Authority
from Chicago and had made up his mind by observation that with a
little encouragement she could be induced to mount a soap-box and
make a speech about Women's Rights; that when her native State should
be granted equal suffrage she would run for office or manage
somebody's political campaign; that she could drive an automobile and
had probably been arrested for speeding; that she could go around any
golf links in the country in ninety and had read Maeterlinck and
enjoyed it.
Bryce could see that she was the little daughter of some large rich
man. The sparsity of jewellery and the rich simplicity of her attire
proved that, and moreover she was accompanied by a French maid to
whom she spoke French in a manner which testified that before
acquiring the French maid she had been in the custody of a French
nurse. She possessed poise. For the rest, she had wonderful jet-black
hair, violet eyes, and milk-white skin, a correct nose but a somewhat
generous mouth, Bryce guessed she was twenty or twenty-one years old
and that she had a temper susceptible of being aroused. On the whole,
she was rather wonderful but not dazzling--at least, not to Bryce
Cardigan. He told himself she merely interested him as a type--
whatever he meant by that.
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