on before the mirror that hung above the table where the copying lay,
giving little turns and touches of feminine pleasure.

Uncle William's eyes followed her good-humoredly.

She turned to him, her face glowing, starlike, out of the lace and mist.
"You're laughing at me," she said, reproachfully.

"No, I wa'n't laughing, so to speak," returned Uncle William. "I was
thinkin' what a sight o' comfort there is in a bunnit. If men folks wore
'em I reckon they'd take life easier." He placed his hat firmly on the
gray tufts. "That's one o' the cur'us things--about 'em." They were
going down the long flight of stairs and he had placed his hand
protectingly beneath her arm. "That's one o' the cur'us things--how
different they be, men and women. I've thought about it a good many
times, how it must 'a' tickled the Lord a good deal when he found how
different they turned out--made o' the same kind o' stuff, so."

"Don't you suppose he meant it?" She was smiling under the frilling
lace.

"Well, like enough," returned Uncle William, thoughtfully. "It's like
the rest o' the world--kind o' comical and big. Like enough he did plan
it that way."

XVII

The room was filled with the hum of light--faces and flowers and color
everywhere. Uncle William walked among them erect, overtopping the
crowd, his gaze, for the most part, on the sky-line. Sergia, beside him,
seemed a slight figure. Glances followed them as they went, amused or
curious or a little admiring. Uncle William, oblivious to the glances
and to the crowd that opened before him, and closed silently behind the
great figure, beamed upon it all. He was used to making his way through
a crowd unhindered. To Sergia the experience was more novel, and she
watched the crowd and the pictures and the old man moving serene among
them, with amused eyes. Once she called his attention to a celebrated
painter in the crowd. Uncle William's eye rested impartially upon him
for a moment and returned to its sky-line. "He looks to me kind o'
pindlin'. One o' the best, is he?"

"He's not strong, you mean?"

"Well, not strong, and not much _to_ him--as if the Lord was kind o'
skimped for material. Is that one o' _his_ picters?"

Her eyes followed his hand. "Alan's! Come." They moved quickly to it
across the larger room. "They are all here." Her glance had swept the
walls. "In the best light, too." She moved eagerly from one to the
other. "See how well they are hung."

Uncle William