distractingly pretty maid laid aside her sewing and rose from her
chair to set him right; he bestowed upon her his most courtly thanks.
She was unusually pretty, so he thanked her again, and she dimpled, one
hand fingering her apron's edge.

"My child," said he gravely, "are you by any fortunate chance as good as
you are ornamental?"

She replied that she thought she was.

"In that case," he said, "this is one of those rare occasions in a
thankless world where goodness is amply and instantly rewarded."

She made a perfunctory resistance, but looked after him, smiling, as he
sauntered off down the hallway, rearranging the blue corn-flower in his
button-hole. At the turn by the window, where potted posies stood, he
encountered Rosalie Dysart in canoe costume--sleeves rolled up, hair
loosened, becomingly tanned, and entirely captivating in her
thoughtfully arranged disarray.

"Why, Duane!" she exclaimed, offering both her hands with that
impulsively unstudied gesture she carefully cultivated for such
occasions.

He took them; he always took what women offered.

"This is very jolly," he said, retaining the hands and examining her
with unfeigned admiration. "Tell me, Mrs. Dysart, are you by any
fortunate chance as good as you are ornamental?"

"I heard you ask that of the maid around the corner," said Rosalie
coolly. "Don't let the bucolic go to your head, Mr. Mallett." And she
disengaged her hands, crossed them behind her, and smiled back at him.
It was his punishment. Her hands were very pretty hands, and well worth
holding.

"That maid," he said gravely, "has excellent manners. I merely
complimented her upon them.... What else did you--ah--hear, Mrs.
Dysart?"

"What one might expect to hear wherever you are concerned. I don't
mind. The things you do rather gracefully seem only offensive when other
men do them.... Have you just arrived?"

"An hour ago. Did you know I was coming?"

"Geraldine mentioned it to everybody, but I don't think anybody swooned
at the news.... My husband is here."

She still confronted him, hands behind her, with an audacity which
challenged--her whole being was always a delicate and perpetual
challenge. There are such women. Over her golden-brown head the late
summer sunlight fell, outlining her full, supple figure and bared arms
with a rose light.

"Well?" she asked.

"If only you _were_ as good as you are ornamental," he said, looking at
her impudently. "But I'm afraid you're