clared. "I have never seen greater
depth of color in amethysts."

"Mr. Lind is an authority on jewels," declared Viola. The young man shot
a curious glance at her, which Jane remembered long afterward. It was
one of those glances which are as keystones to situations.

Harold looked at the purple stones with the expression of a child with
a toy. There was much of the child in the young man's whole appearance,
but of a mischievous and beautiful child, of whom his mother might
observe, with adoration and illconcealed boastfulness, "I can never tell
what that child will do next!"

Harold returned the bracelet and brooch to Jane, and smiled at her as
if amethysts were a lovely purple joke between her and himself, uniting
them by a peculiar bond of fine understanding. "Exquisite, Miss Carew,"
he said. Then he looked at Viola. "Those corals suit you wonderfully,
Mrs. Longstreet," he observed, "but amethysts would also suit you."

"Not with this gown," replied Viola, rather pitifully. There was
something in the young man's gaze and tone which she did not understand,
but which she vaguely quivered before.

Harold certainly thought the corals were too young for Viola. Jane
understood, and felt an unworthy triumph. Harold, who was young enough
in actual years to be Viola's son, and was younger still by reason of
his disposition, was amused by the sight of her in corals, although he
did not intend to betray his amusement. He considered Viola in corals
as too rude a jest to share with her. Had poor Viola once grasped Harold
Lind's estimation of her she would have as soon gazed upon herself in
her coffin. Harold's comprehension of the essentials was beyond Jane
Carew's. It was fairly ghastly, partaking of the nature of X-rays,
but it never disturbed Harold Lind. He went along his dance-track
undisturbed, his blue eyes never losing their high lights of glee, his
lips never losing their inscrutable smile at some happy understanding
between life and himself. Harold had fair hair, which was very smooth
and glossy. His skin was like a girl's. He was so beautiful that he
showed cleverness in an affectation of carelessness in dress. He did
not like to wear evening clothes, because they had necessarily to be
immaculate. That evening Jane regarded him with an inward criticism that
he was too handsome for a man. She told Viola so when the dinner was
over and he and the other guests had gone.

"He is very handsome," she said, "but I never