MRS. VAN SANT put down her novel and looked out of the window, resolving for the twentieth time to abandon all pretense of following the multitudinous trails of modern fiction. She found life itself much more absorbing than any attempt to portray it. As she watched her gardener pushing the mower back and forth across the lawn her active mind seized upon even that simple operation as a thing of passing interest. There was something in the work that appealed to her practical nature; it was fresh, vigorous and clean, and showed immediate results.
She threw open the window to warn the man that he was cutting too near her flower beds and paused to see that the warning was heeded. The rising breeze of the late September afternoon blew her fine, reddish hair about her face and brought the quick color to her fair skin. For some time she stood, breathing deep with a sense of infinite refreshment, her restless eyes searching the shadowed spaces of the quiet street and the front yards of her neighbors opposite. The only sounds she heard were the monotonous whir of the lawn-mower and the shrill treble of the locusts in the trees. All Argos seemed asleep.