noon
There was a sudden wild current of blood in her veins . There he stood , the whistler , neither child nor bird , but the man himself -- Kerr , looking up at her from the gay oval of her garden . She hung over the window-sill . She looked directly down upon him , foreshortened to a face , and even with the distance and the broad glare of noon between them she recognized his aspect -- his gayest , of diabolic glee . There lurked about him the impish quality of the whistle that had summoned her . `` Come down , '' he called . All sorts of wonders and terrors were beating around her .