ng she
beats the boys out of the dressing rooms." Mary was honest and
incredulous in her admiration. "I can't see how she does it. No one
could dare those colours, but they look just right on her."

"She's always threatened that when I became finally flat broke she'd set
up dressmaking and take care of both of us," Tom contributed.

Frederick, looking over the top of a newspaper, was witness to an
illuminating scene; Mary, to his certain knowledge, had been primping
for an hour ere she appeared.

"Oh! How lovely!" was Polly's ready appreciation. Her eyes and face
glowed with honest pleasure, and her hands wove their delight in the
air. "But why not wear that bow so and thus?"

Her hands flashed to the task, and in a moment the miracle of taste and
difference achieved by her touch was apparent even to Frederick.

Polly was like her father, generous to the point of absurdity with her
meagre possessions. Mary admired a Spanish fan--a Mexican treasure that
had come down from one of the grand ladies of the Court of the Emperor
Maximilian. Polly's delight flamed like wild-fire. Mary found herself
the immediate owner of the fan, almost labouring under the fictitious
impression that she had conferred an obligation by accepting it. Only a
foreign woman could do such things, and Polly was guilty of similar
gifts to all the young women. It was her way. It might be a lace
handkerchief, a pink Paumotan pearl, or a comb of hawksbill turtle. It
was all the same. Whatever their eyes rested on in joy was theirs. To
women, as to men, she was irresistible.

"I don't dare admire anything any more," was Mary's plaint. "If I do she
always gives it to me."

Frederick had never dreamed such a creature could exist. The women of
his own race and place had never adumbrated such a possibility. He knew
that whatever she did--her quick generosities, her hot enthusiasms or
angers, her birdlike caressing ways--was unbelievably sincere. Her
extravagant moods at the same time shocked and fascinated him. Her voice
was as mercurial as her feelings. There were no even tones, and she
talked with her hands. Yet, in her mouth, English was a new and
beautiful language, softly limpid, with an audacity of phrase and
tellingness of expression that conveyed subtleties and nuances as
unambiguous and direct as they were unexpected from one of such
childlikeness and simplicity. He woke up of nights and on his darkened
eyelids saw bright memory-pictures of the