"
An idea whisked through Anne's brain with a suddenness
that made her jump. But she did not utter it, for they
had reached the Moore house. As they entered the yard
Leslie came out on the veranda from the side door,
peering through the gloom for some sign of her expected
guest. She stood just where the warm yellow light
flooded her from the open door. She wore a plain dress
of cheap, cream-tinted cotton voile, with the usual
girdle of crimson. Leslie was never without her touch
of crimson. She had told Anne that she never felt
satisfied without a gleam of red somewhere about her,
if it were only a flower. To Anne, it always seemed to
symbolise Leslie's glowing, pent-up personality,
denied all expression save in that flaming glint.
Leslie's dress was cut a little away at the neck and
had short sleeves. Her arms gleamed like ivory-tinted
marble. Every exquisite curve of her form was
outlined in soft darkness against the light. Her hair
shone in it like flame. Beyond her was a purple sky,
flowering with stars over the harbor.
Anne heard her companion give a gasp.
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