ucements to sit down. There were
gold-lacquered tables and a curious concert-grand piano, also gold
inlaid with mother-of-pearl cupids and flowers. Everything was most
elaborate. Gila, in her soft transparencies, looked like a wraith amid
it all. The young man chose to think she was too rare and fine for a
place so ornate.

Presently the fat cooky arms of the mother were enfolded in a gorgeous
blue-plush evening cloak beloaded with handsome black fur; and with many
bows and kindly words the little husband toddled off beside her,
reminding Courtland of a big cinnamon bear and a little black-and-tan
dog he had once seen together in a show.

Gila stood bewitchingly childish in the great gold room, and shyly asked
if he would like to go to the library, where it was cozier. The red
light glowed across the hall, and he turned from it with a shudder of
remembrance. The glow seemed to beat upon his nerves like something
striking his eyeballs.

"I'd like to hear you play, if you will," he answered, wondering in his
heart if, after all, a dolled-up instrument like that was really meant
to be played upon.

Gila pouted. She did not want to play, but she would not seem to refuse
the challenge. She went to the piano and rippled off a brilliant waltz
or two, just to show him she could do it, played Humoresque, and a few
little catchy melodies that were in the popular ear just then, and then,
whirling on the gilded stool, she lifted her big eyes to him:

"I don't like it in here," she said, with a little shiver, as a child
might do; "let's go into the library by the fire. It's pleasanter there
to talk."

Courtland hesitated. "Look here," said he, frankly, "Wouldn't you just
as soon sit somewhere else? I don't like that red light of yours. It
gets on my nerves. I don't like to see you in it. It makes you
look--well--something different from what I believe you really are. I
like a plain, honest white light."

Gila gave him one swift, wondering glance and walked laughingly over to
the library door. "Oh, is that all?" she said, and, touching a button,
she switched off the big red table-lamp and switched on what seemed like
a thousand little tapers concealed softly about the ceiling.

"There!" she cried, half mockingly. "You can have as much light as you
like, and when you get tired of that we can cut them all off and sit in
the firelight." She touched another button and let him see the room in
the soft dim shadows and rich glow o