. Mr. Congdon says blue shadows are under anybody's ears in
the light, but I can't see 'em on the Captain, and I do see 'em in the
picture; that's what gets me twisted. When I look at the picture I can't
see nothin' else."

Her hostess laughed. "I know just how you feel, but that's the insolence
of the painter--he puts on canvas what _he_ sees, not what his patron
sees. The more money you pay for a portrait the more insolent the
artist."

At this moment Mrs. Crego came in, and (as she said afterwards) was
presented to the gambler's wife "as though I were a nobody and she a
visiting countess." Bertha rose, offered her hand, like a boy, in
silence; she stood very straight, with very cold and unmistakably
suspicious face. And Alice Heath, who entered with Mrs. Crego, shared
this chill reception.

Bertha, in truth, instantly and cordially hated Mrs. Crego; but she
pitied the younger woman, in whom she detected another fugitive fighting
a losing battle with disease. Miss Heath was very fair and very frail,
with burning deep-blue eyes and a lovely mouth. She greeted Bertha with
such sincere pleasure that the girl inclined to her instantly, and they
went out on the porch together. Alice put her hand on Bertha's arm,
saying: "I've wanted to meet you, Mr. Congdon has told us so much of
you. Your life seems very romantic to me."

The men all rose to meet Mrs. Congdon, and before Bertha had time to
recover from the effect of the girl's words she found herself confronted
by Ben Fordyce, who looked like a college boy, athletic and smiling. He
was tall and broad-chested, with a round blond face and yellow hair. His
manner was frank, and his voice deep. His hand, broad and strong, was
hardened by the tennis-racket and calloused by the golf-stick, and
somehow its leathery clasp pleased the girl. The roughness of his palm
made him less alien than either Congdon or Crego.

They went out to dinner immediately, and as she walked beside Mart she
felt the young athlete's eyes resting upon her face, and the knowledge
of this troubled her unaccountably. Mrs. Congdon seated him opposite her
at the table, and he continued to stare at her with the frankest
curiosity. She returned his gaze at last with a certain defiance, but
found no offence in his eyes, which were round as his face, and of a
sincere, steady gray. He was smooth-shaven, and his blond hair was
rather short. All these peculiarities appeared one by one in the
intervals between