`` Some agent has been pestering Lucy Ellen , I suppose , '' she muttered vexedly . The stranger came on with an airy briskness utterly foreign to Orientalites . Cecily opened the gate and went through . They met under the amber-tinted sugar maple in the heart of the hollow . As he passed , the man lifted his hat and bowed with an ingratiating smile . He was about forty-five , well , although somewhat loudly dressed , and with an air of self-satisfied prosperity pervading his whole personality . He had a heavy gold watch chain and a large seal ring on the hand that lifted his hat . He was bald , with a high , Shaksperian forehead and a halo of sandy curls . His face was ruddy and weak , but good-natured : his eyes were large and blue , and he had a little straw-colored moustache , with a juvenile twist and curl in it . Cecily did not recognize him , yet there was something vaguely familiar about him . She walked rapidly up to the house . In the sitting-room she found Lucy Ellen peering out between the muslin window curtains . When the latter turned there was an air of repressed excitement about her . `` Who was that man , Lucy Ellen ? '' Cecily asked . To Cecily 's amazement , Lucy Ellen blushed -- a warm , Spring-like flood of color that rolled over her delicate little face like a miracle of rejuvenescence . `` Did n't you know him ? That was Cromwell Biron , '' she simpered . Although Lucy Ellen was forty and , in most respects , sensible , she could not help simpering upon occasion . `` Cromwell Biron , '' repeated Cecily , in an emotionless voice .
She took off her bonnet mechanically , brushed the dust from its ribbons and bows and went to put it carefully away XXXXX its white box in the spare bedroom .
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