e least bit of coquetry
or worldliness; eyes expressing simplicity and interest in what you are
saying--not in you, but in what you are saying. So few women know how
to listen; most women appear to be thinking of themselves and the effect
they are producing."

Mrs. Cortlandt laughed. "Ah; I see. And a little 'sadness' in them,
wasn't there? Those are the most dangerous eyes. The sort that follow
you, that you see in the dark at night after the gas is turned off."

"I haven't the faculty of seeing things in the dark, Mrs. Cortlandt. Oh,
there's the mother!" And the shrill voice of Mrs. Benson was heard, "We
was getting uneasy about you. Pa says a storm's coming, and that you'd
be as sick as sick."

The weather was changing. But that evening the spacious hotel,
luxurious, perfectly warmed, and well lighted, crowded with an agreeable
if not a brilliant company--for Mr. King noted the fact that none of
the gentlemen dressed for dinner--seemed all the more pleasant for the
contrast with the weather outside. Thus housed, it was pleasant to
hear the waves dashing against the breakwater. Just by chance, in the
ballroom, Mr. King found himself seated by Mrs. Benson and a group of
elderly ladies, who had the perfunctory air of liking the mild gayety of
the place. To one of them Mr. King was presented, Mrs. Stimpson--a
stout woman with a broad red face and fishy eyes, wearing an elaborate
head-dress with purple flowers, and attired as if she were expecting
to take a prize. Mrs. Stimpson was loftily condescending, and asked
Mr. King if this was his first visit. She'd been coming here years and
years; never could get through the spring without a few weeks at the
Hygeia. Mr. King saw a good many people at this hotel who seemed to
regard it as a home.

"I hope your daughter, Mrs. Benson, was not tired out with the rather
long voyage today."

"Not a mite. I guess she enjoyed it. She don't seem to enjoy most
things. She's got everything heart can wish at home. I don't know how it
is. I was tellin' pa, Mr. Benson, today that girls ain't what they used
to be in my time. Takes more to satisfy 'em. Now my daughter, if I say
it as shouldn't, Mr. King, there ain't a better appearin,' nor smarter,
nor more dutiful girl anywhere--well, I just couldn't live without her;
and she's had the best schools in the East and Europe; done all Europe
and Rome and Italy; and after all, somehow, she don't seem contented in
Cyrusville--that's where we l