“What is it, Daddy?” A door at the back of the hall burst open and Dorothy ran toward them. Her girlish figure was clothed in a blue linen frock and a white apron covered her from throat to ankles. There were some faint traces of flour clinging to her wrists as if she had been suddenly summoned from the bread bowl. She looked fresh and sweet, strong and healthy, and a certain grace of manner pleased Mr. Davis instantly. He saw that she had her father’s eyes and coloring, his air of self-reliance. He noticed, too, that when she spoke to her parent her voice was tempered with a particular tenderness. This pleased him most of all, for he had expected to see somewhat of a hoyden. This girl, for all her prowess as a flyer, was totally feminine. Mr. Dixon introduced them.