-"Your
husband, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied Pauline, standing behind her cousin. "We each had one
done in Paris."

"What a masterful face!" said Olivia. "I've never seen a better
forehead." And she thought,

"He's of the same type as Scarborough, except--what is it I dislike in
his expression?"

"Do you notice a resemblance to any one you know?" asked Pauline.

"Ye-e-s," replied Olivia, coloring. "I think----"

"Scarborough, isn't it?"

"Yes," admitted Olivia.

After a pause Pauline said ambiguously: "The resemblance is stronger
there than in life."

Olivia glanced at her and was made vaguely uneasy by the look she was
directing at the face of the portrait. But though Pauline must have
seen that she was observed, she did not change expression. They went
out upon the east veranda and Olivia stood at the railing. She hardly
noted the view in the press of thoughts roused by the hints of what was
behind the richly embroidered curtain of her cousin's life.

All along the bluff, some exposed, some half hid by dense foliage, were
the pretentious houses of the thirty or forty families who had grown
rich through the industries developed within the past ten years. Two
foreign-looking servants in foreign-looking house-liveries were
bringing a table on which was an enormous silver tray with a
tea-service of antique silver and artistic china. As Olivia turned to
seat herself a young man and a woman of perhaps forty, obviously from
the East, came through the doors at the far end of the long porch.
Both were in white, carefully dressed and groomed; both suggested a
mode of life whose leisure had never been interrupted.

"Who are coming?" asked Olivia. She wished she had gone to her room
before tea. These people made her feel dowdy and mussy.

Pauline glanced round, smiled and nodded, turned back to her cousin.

"Mrs. Herron and Mr. Langdon. She's the wife of a New York lawyer, and
she takes Mr. Langdon everywhere with her to amuse her, and he goes to
amuse himself. He's a socialist, or something like that. He thinks up
and says things to shock conservative, conventional people. He's rich
and never has worked--couldn't if he would, probably. But he denounces
leisure classes and large fortunes and advocates manual labor every day
for everybody. He's clever in a queer, cynical way."

A Mrs. Fanshaw, also of New York, came from the library in a tea-gown
of chiffon and real lace. All were made acquainted