"SQUEALS!...."
This young lady who was addressed as "V.V." was perhaps one or two and
twenty, Dr. Martineau thought,--he was not very good at feminine ages.
She had a clear sun-browned complexion, with dark hair and smiling lips.
Her features were finely modelled, with just that added touch of breadth
in the brow and softness in the cheek bones, that faint flavour of the
Amerindian, one sees at times in American women. Her voice was a very
soft and pleasing voice, and she spoke persuasively and not assertively
as so many American women do. Her determination to make the dry bones of
Stonehenge live shamed the doctor's disappointment with the place. And
when she had spoken, Dr. Martineau noted that she looked at Sir Richmond
as if she expected him at least to confirm her vision. Sir Richmond was
evidently prepared to confirm it.
With a queer little twinge of infringed proprietorship, the doctor saw
Sir Richmond step up on the prostrate megalith and stand beside her, the
better to appreciate her point of view. He smiled down at her. "Now why
do you think they came in THERE?" he asked.
The young lady was not very clear about her directions. She did not know
of the roadway running to the Avon river, nor of the alleged race course
to the north, nor had she ever heard that the stones were supposed to be
of two different periods and that some of them might possibly have been
brought from a very great distance.
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