he had been under some harassing strain. Her
first impression that he had come into the house reluctantly was
reinforced now by an equal impression that he stayed with reluctance.
Why, then, had he come at all? Was it only to escape the rain? Her
rescuer, the hero of her dreams, still held his statued place in the
shrine of her memory, as proudly, defiantly opposed to this stranger.
Had he known? He must have known, just as she had. It was not Lawson
who had hurt her the most! She could not hear what he said, though the
room was small; he and Justin and Lois were absorbed together. It was
evident that he frankly admired Lois, who was smiling at him. Yet, as
he talked, Dosia became curiously aware that from his position
directly across the room he was covertly watching her as she sat
consentingly listening to George Sutton, whose round face was bending
over very near, his thick coat sleeve pinning down the filmy ruffles
of hers as it rested on the carved arm of the little sofa.

She still held Zaidee cuddled close to her, the light head with its
big blue bow lying against her breast, as the child played with the
simple rings on the soft fingers of the hand she held.

Mr. Sutton got up, at Dosia's bidding, to alter the shade, and she
moved a little, drawing Zaidee up to her to kiss her; Girard the next
instant moved slightly also, so that her face was still within his
range of vision, the intent gray eyes shaded by his hand. It was not
her imagining--she felt the strong play of unknown forces: the gaze of
those two men never left her, one covertly observant, the other most
obviously so. George came back from his errand only to sit a little
closer to Dosia, his eyes in their most suffused state. He was,
indeed, in that stage of infatuation which can no longer brook any
concealment, and for which other men feel a shamefaced contempt,
though a woman even while she derides, holds it in a certain respect
as a foolish manifestation of something inherently great, and a
tribute to her power. To Dosia's indifference, in this strange dual
sense of another and resented excitement,--an excitement like that
produced on the brain by some intolerably high altitude,--Mr. Sutton's
attentions seemed to breathe only of a grateful warmth; she felt that
he was being very, very kind. She could ask him to do anything for
her, and he would do it, no matter what it was, just because she asked
him. He was planning now a day on somebody's yacht, w