s Rexhill says, there is a facial resemblance even yet."

"Perhaps you would like to take it with you, then," Helen suggested, to
Mrs. Purnell's delight, who explained that the only picture she had of
Dorothy at that age had been lost.

"If it wouldn't deprive you?"

"No, indeed. You must take it. I have a large blotter in my writing-pad,
so I really don't need that one at all. So many such things are sent to
father that we always have more than we can use up."

When Dorothy and her mother left the hotel, urged homeward by the first
big drops of the coming rain, Mrs. Purnell tucked the blotter in the
bosom of her dress, happy to have the suggestion of the picture to
recall the days when her husband's presence cheered them all. Her world
had been a small one, and little things like this helped to make it
bright.

Soon afterward the supper bell rang, and during the meal Helen told the
Senator, who seemed somewhat morose and preoccupied, of the visit she
had had.

"Sure tiresome people. Goodness! I was glad to see them at first because
I thought they would help me to pass the afternoon, but instead I was
bored to death. That little minx is crazy about Gordon, though. I could
see that."

"Um!"

"And the worst of it is that she just fits into the scenery here, and I
don't. You know, father, I never could wax enthusiastic over shooing the
cows to roost and things like that."

"Um!"

"I feel like a deaf person at a concert, here in this town."

This remark brought a wry laugh from her father, and Helen smiled.

"Well, I've made you laugh, anyway," she said. "You're frightfully
grouchy this evening."

"My dear, I'm busy, very busy, and I haven't time to think of trifles.
I'll be at it most of the night."

"Oh, shall you? Goodness, that's cheerful. I wish I had never come to
this awful little place. I suppose I must go back to my letters for
something to do. And, father," she added, as he lingered with her for a
moment in the hallway, "the Purnells seem to think that you and Mr.
Moran had better not go too far. The people here are very much wrought
up."

He patted her shoulder affectionately.

"You leave all that to me and go write to your mother."

There was nothing else for her to do, so she returned to the parlor.
When she had finished her letters, she idly picked up a week-old copy of
a Denver newspaper which lay on the table and glanced through the
headlines. She was yawningly thinking of bed, when Mo