The driver grinned down a sheepish apology and Peter turned to hold the door open. She stood framed in the doorway for a moment while she lifted in her case, and for that moment Peter had conflicting impressions. He was conscious of a modest, nun-like appearance of clothes; the traveling-suit was gray, and the small gray hat had an encircling breast of white feathers. The lips had a quiet, demure curve; but the chin was determined, almost aggressive, while the gray eyes positively emitted sparks. The girl was not beautiful, she was luminous--and all the gray clothing in the world could not quench her. Peter found himself instantly wondering how anything so vitally alive and fresh to look at could be headed for a sanitarium with broken-down hulks like himself.
She caught Peter's eye upon her and smiled. "If Flanders will hurry we'll be there in time to see Hennessy feeding the swans," she announced.
There was no response. Peter had suddenly lost the knack of it, along with other things. He could only look bewildered and a trifle more tired. But the girl must have understood it was only a temporary lack, for she did not draw in like a snail and dismiss Peter from her conscious horizon. She smiled again.
"I see. Newcomer?" And, nodding an affirmative to herself, she went sociably on: "Hennessy and the swans are symbolical. Couldn't tell you why--not in a thousand years--but you'll feel it for yourself after you've been here long enough. Hennessy hasn't changed in fifteen years--maybe longer for those who can reckon longer. Same old blue jumper, same old tawny corduroys; if he ever had a new pair he's kept them to himself. And the swans have changed less than Hennessy. If anything gets on your nerves here--treatment, doctors, nurses, anything--go and watch Hennessy. He's the one sure, universal cure."
The bus swung round the corner and brought the ivy-covered building into sight. The girl's face grew lighter and lighter; in the shadow of the bus it seemed to Peter actually to shine. "Dear old San," she said under her breath. "Heigh-ho! it's good to get back!"
Before Peter could fathom any reason for this unaccountable rejoicing, the bus had stopped and the girl and suitcase had vanished. Wearily he came back to his own reason for being there, and docilely he allowed the porter to shoulder his luggage and conduct him within.