ok aghast as if he
had spoken of something impolite. One couldn't think of Mrs. Dare in a
resurrection, she would seem so out of place, so sort of unclothed for
the occasion, in those fat, doughy arms with her glittering jet
shoulder-straps. He realized that all these thoughts that raced through
his head were but fantasies occasioned no doubt by his own highly
wrought nervous condition, but they kept crowding in and bringing the
mirth to his eyes. How, for instance, would Mother Marshall and Mother
Dare hit it off if they should happen together in the same heaven?

Gila was all in white, from the tip of her pearly shoulders down to the
tip of her pearl-beaded slippers--white and demure. Her skin looked even
more pearly than when she wore the brilliant red-velvet gown. It had a
pure, dazzling whiteness, different from most skins. It perplexed him.
It did not look like flesh, but more like some ethereal substance meant
for angels. He drew a breath of satisfaction that there was not even a
flush upon it to-night. No painting there at least! He was not master of
the rare arts that skins are subject to in these days. He knew
artificial whiteness only when it was glaring and floury. This pearly
paleness was exquisite, delicious; and in contrast the great dark eyes,
lifted pansy-like for an instant and then down-drooped beneath those
wonderful, long curling lashes, were almost startling in their beauty.
The hair was simply arranged with a plain narrow band of black velvet
around the white temples, and the soft loops of cloudy darkness drawn
out on her cheeks in her own fantastic way. There was an attempt at
demureness in the gown; soft folds of pure transparent nothing seemed to
shelter what they could not hide, and more such folds drooped over the
lovely arms to the elbows. Surely, surely, this was loveliness
undefiled. The words of Peer Gynt came floating back disconnectedly,
more as a puzzled question in his mind than as they stand in the story:

"Is your psalm-book in your 'kerchief?
Do you glance adown your apron?
Do you hold your mother's skirt-fold?
Speak!"

But he only looked at her admiringly, and talked on about the college
games, making himself agreeable to every one, and winning more and more
the lifted pansy-eyes.

When dinner was over they drifted informally into a large
white-and-gold reception-room, with inhospitable chairs and settees
whose satin slipperiness offered no ind