ed Jerusha Darby to be told that there was a resemblance
between these two. But, although the older woman's countenance was an
open book holding the story of inherited ideas, limited and intensified,
and the young face unmistakably perpetuated the family likeness, yet
Jerry Swaim was a type of her own, not easy to forejudge. In the shadows
of the rose-arbor her hair rippled back from her forehead in dull-gold
waves. One could picture what the sunshine would do for it. Her big,
dark-blue eyes were sometimes dreamy under their long lashes, and
sometimes full of sparkling light. Her whole atmosphere was that of
easeful, dependent, city life; yet there was something contrastingly
definite in her low voice, her firm mouth and square-cut chin. And
beyond appearances and manner, there was something which nobody ever
quite defined, that made it her way to walk straight into the hearts of
those who knew her.

"Where were you in the city to-day?" Mrs. Darby asked, abruptly, looking
keenly at the fair-faced girl much as she would have looked at any other
of her goodly possessions.

"Let me see," Jerry Swaim began, meditatively. "I was shopping quite a
while. The stores are gorgeous this June."

"Yes, and what else?" queried the older woman.

"Oh, some more shopping. Then I lunched at _La Senorita_, that beautiful
new tea-house. Every room represents some nationality in its decoration.
I was in the Delft room--Holland Dutch--whiskers and Limburger"--there
was a gleam of fun in the dark-blue eyes--"but it is restful and
charming. And the service is perfect. Then I strolled off to the Art
Gallery and lost myself in the latest exhibit. Cousin Gene would like
that, I'm sure. It was so cool and quiet there that I stayed a long
time. The exhibit is mostly of landscapes, all of them as beautiful as
'Eden' except one."

There was just a shade of something different in the girl's tone when
she spoke her cousin's name.

"And that one?" Mrs. Darby inquired. She did not object to shopping and
more shopping, but art was getting outside of her dominion.

"It was a desert-like scene; just yellow-gray plains, with no trees at
all. And in the farther distance the richest purples and reds of a
sunset sky into which the land sort of diffused. No landscape on this
earth was ever so yellow-gray, or any sunset ever so like the Book of
Revelation, nor any horizon-line so wide and far away. It was the
hyperbole of a freakish imagination. And yet,