tin-textured duskiness as the heart-shaped face, with its
laughing red mouth. Her cheekbones were rather high and touched with
colour, as if a geranium petal had been rubbed across them, just under
the brown shadows beneath the eyes. Her chin was small and pointed, her
forehead low and broad, and this, with the slight prominence of the
cheekbones and the narrowing of the chin, gave that heartlike shape to
her face which added piquancy and made it singularly endearing.

She was very tall and graceful, with pretty ways of using her hands, and
looking from under her lashes with her head on one side, which showed
that she had been a spoiled and petted child.

"Yes, I'm quite pretty," she agreed gayly, "and I have on a pretty
dress, which is part of my trousseau, and I hope it will last a long
time. But the thing I am principally interested in just now is our flat.
Call this a 'living-room' at once, or I shall feel homesick and burst
into tears. The question is, do you think _it_ is pretty?"

"Awfully pretty; looks like you somehow," answered Dick, gazing around
appreciatively. "Jolly chintz with roses on it, and your rugs are
ripping. Everything goes so well with everything else."

"It ought to. I have taken enough trouble over it all, introducing
wedding presents to each other and trying to make them congenial. I have
no boudoir, so I can't boude. But St. George has a study with books up
to the ceiling, and lots still on the floor, because we are not settled
yet, though we arrived--strangers in a strange land--in November. I
expect you'll recognize some of the things here, because old colonial
furniture doesn't grow on blackberry bushes in this climate, and I
brought over everything Grandma Carleton left me: that desk, and cabinet
and mirror, and those three near-Chippendale chairs. Wouldn't the poor
darling make discords on her golden harp, or moult important feathers
out of her wings, if she could see her parlour furniture in a room at
Monte Carlo?"

"Nice way for a par--I mean a chaplain's wife to talk," said Dick.

"I've been _so_ prim for three whole months," Rose Winter excused
herself, "except, of course, when I'm alone with St. George."

"Ever since you were married. Poor kid! But don't you have to be prim
with him?"

"Good gracious, no! That would be death. I arranged with him the day I
definitely said yes, and again on our wedding eve, so as to have _no_
misunderstanding, that I might keep all my pet slan