blue, but a soft, mossy blue-green."

Mrs. Feversham laughed. "Home industry again! We don't go to New York for
Alaska cedar. But you are right; that pale yellow wood would be simply
charming with these primrose walls, and it takes a wonderful polish. That
leaves me only the rugs and hangings." She turned to go back through the
wide doorway, then stopped to say: "After all, Beatriz, why not see what
is to be had in Seattle? I had rather you selected everything for this
suite, since it is to be yours."

"Mine?" She paused, steadying her voice, then went on with a swift
breathlessness. "But I see, you mean to use when I visit you and
Elizabeth. These rooms, from the first, have been my choice. But I am
afraid I've been officious. I've been carried away by all this beautiful
architecture and the pleasure of imagining harmonious, expensive
furnishings. I never have fitted a complete house; it's years since I had
a home. Then, too, you've spoiled me by listening to my suggestions.
You've made me believe it was one way I could--well--cancel obligations."

Mrs. Feversham raised her hand and, turning it slowly, watched the play of
light on the ruby. "There isn't a stone like this in America," she said.
"You don't know how I've coveted it. But you need not have worried,
Beatriz. I disposed of your note to Frederic."

"To Mr. Morganstein?" Her voice broke a little; she rocked unsteadily on
her feet. It was as though a great wind had taken her unawares. Then, "I
shall try to pay him as soon as possible," she said evenly. "I have the
land at Hesperides Vale, you know, and if I do not sell it soon, perhaps
he will take it for the debt."

Mrs. Feversham dropped her hand. "Beatriz! Beatriz!" she exclaimed. "You
know there's an easier way. Come, it's time to stop this make-believe. You
know Frederic Morganstein would gladly pay your debts, every one. You know
he is building this villa for you; that he would marry you, now, to-day,
if you would say the word. Yet you hold him at arm's-length; you are so
conservative, so scrupulous about Public Opinion. But no one in Seattle
would breathe a suggestion of blame. And it isn't as though you had worn
first mourning. The wedding could be very quiet, with a long honeymoon to
Japan or Mexico; both, if you wished. And you might come home to open this
house with a reception late in May. The twilights are delightful then.
Come, think, Bee! You've been irreproachable; the most exacting would
ad