he always did in his
absence, deeply.

There had been no one to greet them as Bulstrode and herself came into
the castle, and she had hurried to her rooms to begin without loss of
time her boasted rapid toilet. The dress, whose harmony had impressed
her host, the Duke, on a former visit at the castle, had been laid out
for her; its sumptuous color overspread the bed. But the lady chose
instead a white gown whose art of holding to her, and holding her, in
its simple lines and splendid sheen, made its beauty.

There was much of the true woman in this entirely lovely creature, as
she stood before her glass and saw herself, the best example of the
really beautiful American. Her naturalness gave her a freedom, a
frankness, a grace, a certain imperial set of the head.

Bulstrode had once said to the Duchess of Westboro' that a woman should
above all "console." Mary Falconer would have known what he meant.
That sex she gloriously represented! The sweetness and dearness of
her. Well, there were few women no doubt like her. Jimmy hoped so for
the sake of the race, for the sake of the hearts of other men. She was
the ideal fireside of home, and when, as she had twice done, she bade
him, as that time she had said, "Build here," he knew what she meant
and felt, and that she herself was exquisitely home.

Leaning over her dressing-table she scrutinized not her face, whose
ardent beauty seemed to bloom upon the glass, but her hair as it fell
and rippled and flowed round her brows. Along the edge of one of the
lustrous waves was a touch as if her powder puff had brushed her hair.
Mrs. Falconer put up her hand, smoothed the line, then let it lie as it
grew. It so declared itself to be the first unmistakable white. A
gardener's basket full of roses and camelias, gardenias and carnations
had been sent up for her; but under the diamond at her breast she chose
rather to fasten in a spray of mistletoe with its pale, grape-like
berries. A long green scarf fell over her arm and against the
whiteness of her dress like a branch of spring verdure, and permitted
by the fashion of the day, there shook and trembled in her ears long,
pear-shaped pearls which, like her thimble, had been her mother's.

As she left the security of her room and fire for the corridors and the
publicity of the lower rooms, for the first time in her life she had a
sudden feeling of _pruderie_ at the bare beauty of her neck and arms.
She felt as if she were