s not likely to forget. She remembered
only too keenly the afternoon he had told her. They had been sitting
in the snuggery, herself in the inglenook, and Roger coiled up in his
big pet chair that nobody else ever sat in.

"'What must my lady be that I must love her?'" he had quoted. "Well, I
will paint my dream-love for you, Freda. She must be tall and slender,
with chestnut hair of wonderful gloss, with just the suggestion of a
ripple in it. She must have an oval face, colourless ivory in hue,
with the expression of a Madonna; and her eyes must be 'passionless,
peaceful blue,' deep and tender as a twilight sky."

Freda, looking at herself along her arm in the mirror, recalled this
description and smiled faintly. She was short and plump, with a
piquant, irregular little face, vivid tinting, curly, unmanageable
hair of ruddy brown, and big grey eyes. Certainly, she was not his
ideal.

"When and where did you meet your lady of the Madonna face and
twilight eyes?" she asked.

Roger frowned. Freda's face was solemn enough but her eyes looked as
if she might be laughing at him.

"I haven't met her yet. I have only seen her. It was in the park
yesterday. She was in a carriage with the Mandersons. So beautiful,
Freda! Our eyes met as she drove past and I realized that I had found
my long-sought ideal. I rushed back to town and hunted up Pete
Manderson at the club. Pete is a donkey but he has his ways of being
useful. He told me who she was. Her name is Stephanie Gardiner; she is
his cousin from the south and is visiting his mother. And, Freda, I am
to dine at the Mandersons' tonight. I shall meet her."

"Do goddesses and ideals and Madonnas eat?" said Freda in an awed
whisper. Her eyes were certainly laughing now. Roger got up stiffly.

"I must confess I did not expect that you would ridicule my
confidence, Freda," he said frigidly. "It is very unlike you. But if
you are not interested I will not bore you with any further details.
And it is time I was getting back to town anyhow."

When he had gone Freda ran to the west window and flung it open. She
leaned out and waved both hands at him over the spruce hedge.

"Roger, Roger, I was a horrid little beast. Forget it immediately,
please. And come out tomorrow and tell me all about her."

Roger came. He bored Freda terribly with his raptures but she never
betrayed it. She was all sympathy--or, at least, as much sympathy as a
woman can be who must listen while the man