such a cold, calculating gaze--and when he spoke to me, I
nearly jumped out of my shoes--his voice was crisp, incisive.

"'Take it off,' he said, and touched the gauze that tied up my head.

"I gasped. Then I drew myself up in an attempt at haughtiness. But he
wasn't impressed a bit.

"'I suppose you know that I am an artist, Miss Jeliffe,' he said, 'and
from the moment you came into the room, I haven't had a bit of peace.
You're spoiling your type--and it affects me as a chromo would, or a
crude crayon portrait, or any other dreadful thing.'

"Do you know how it feels to be called a 'dreadful thing' by a man like
that? Well, it simply made me shrivel up and have shivers down my
spine.

"'But why?' I stammered.

"'Women like you,' he said, 'belong to the stately, the aristocratic
type. You can be a _grande dame_ or a duchess--and you are making of
yourself--what? A soubrette, with your tango skirt and your strapped
slippers, and your hideous head-dress--take it off.'

"'But I can't take it off,' I said, almost tearfully; 'my hair
underneath is--awful.'

"'It doesn't make any difference about your hair underneath--it can't
be worse than it is,' he roared. 'I want to see your coloring--take it
off.'

"And I took it off. My hair was perfectly flat, and as I caught a
glimpse of myself in the mirror, I wanted to laugh, to shriek. But
Colin Quale was as solemn as an owl. 'Ah,' he said, 'I knew you had a
lot of it!'

"He caught up the scarf which he had borrowed and flung it over my
shoulders. He gave a flick of his fingers against my forehead and
pulled down a few hairs and parted them. He whisked a little table in
front of me, and thrust the bunch of roses into my arms.

"'Now look at yourself,' he commanded.

"I looked and looked again. I had never dreamed that I could be like
that. The scarf and the table hid every bit of that Paris gown, and
showed just a bit of white throat. My plain parted hair and the
roses--I looked," and now Delilah was blushing faintly, "I looked as I
had always wanted to look--like the lovely ladies in the old English
portraits.

"'Do you like it?' Colin asked.

"He knew that I liked it from my eyes, and for the first time since I
had met him, he laughed.

"'All my life,' he said, 'I have been looking for just such a woman as
you. A woman to make over--to develop. We must be friends, Miss
Jeliffe. You must let me know where I can see you again.'

"Well, I didn