erely said, "What a pretty, old-fashioned
room! The green wall is a becoming background." And when he uttered this
comment it was at his vagabond he looked, not at his hostess.

Barrie was rather remarkable against that green. She glanced around,
evidently in rapt admiration of everything she saw. Her eyes were very
bright and big, her young, red lips a little apart. "Silly thing, gaping
with her mouth open!" Aline relieved her feelings by saying to herself.

"Oh, it's so beautiful here, and Mrs. West's dress is so lovely," the
girl said; "it makes me feel I must take off this horrid cloak and tam,
not to be a blot. May I take them off?" she asked Aline, turning frank
admiration on her, as one turns on a searchlight.

Aline would have liked to think of some reason for saying "no," such as
a draught, or an immediate departure for upstairs; but even if the
excuse had been valid enough, it would have been of no use, for without
awaiting permission, which she took as a matter of course, the weird
creature had whipped off her green pancake and was throwing back her
cloak. "Not that my dress isn't nearly as bad," she apologized, sighing.
"I have never seen such a pretty room as this."

It was really nothing wonderful by way of a room: a little oak
panelling; faded green brocade walls; some nice old pastels; furniture
of the Stuart period; pretty bright chintz; a few old Chelsea figures on
the mantel and in a cabinet; quantities of red and white roses in
Chinese bowls. Aline ached to snap, "If you've never seen anything as
pretty as _this_, where have you lived?" But that was not the way of
Somerled's ideal woman. It would have been better if the stupid thing
had praised Mrs. West's looks, thus riveting Somerled's eyes and
appreciation; but all her silly admiration seemed to be for the dress
and the room. Little brute! Incapable of calling another female pretty,
when a man was present. Just what one would expect of an actress's
daughter, especially _that_ actress, if half one heard of "Mrs. Bal"
were true.

Aline was inclined to believe that Barrie MacDonald had purposely posed
herself under a hanging lamp, so as to show off her hair when suddenly
uncovered. The daughter of an actress, with the dramatic instinct in her
blood! But the idea did not seem to occur to Somerled, experienced as he
was, disillusioned as he thought himself. At least there was nothing
cynical in the expression of his face.

"Do let me help you wit