excellent bits of
phrasing not original with themselves, idiomatic epithets, a way of
neatly describing a person in a word or two as though you had ticketed
him, until the listener really takes for brilliancy what is no more than
a thread-and-needle shop of other people's wares.

"Any man," she said, as they sat in the transformed bowling-alley--"any
man, no matter how insignificant and unattractive, can be made to
believe that any woman, no matter how beautiful or brilliant, is in love
with him, at the expense of two looks and one sigh."

"But who cares to make him believe?" said Anne, with the unaffected,
cheerful indifference which belonged to her, and which had already
quieted Miss Vanhorn's fears as to any awkward self-consciousness.

"Most women."

"Why?"

"To swell their trains," replied the old woman. "Isabel Varce, over
there in blue, and Rachel Bannert, the one in black, care for nothing
else."

"Mrs. Bannert is very ugly," said Anne, with the calm certainty of
girlhood.

"Oh, is she?" said Miss Vanhorn, laughing shortly. "You will change your
mind, my Phyllis; you will learn that a dark skin and half-open eyes are
superb."

"If _Helen_ was here, people would see real beauty," answered Anne, with
some scorn.

"They are a contrast, I admit; opposite types. But we must not be
narrow, Phyllis; you will find that people continue to look at Mrs.
Bannert, no matter who is by. Here is some one who seems to know you."

"Mr. Dexter," said Anne, as the tall form drew near. "He is a friend of
Helen's."

"Helen has a great many friends. However, I happen to have heard of this
Mr. Dexter. You may present him to me--I hope you know how."

All Madame Moreau's pupils knew how. Anne performed her task properly,
and Dexter, bringing forward one of the old broken-backed chairs (which
formed part of the "woody and uncloying flavor" of Caryl's), sat down
beside them.

"I am surprised that you remembered me, Mr. Dexter," said the girl. "You
saw me but once, and on New-Year's Day too, among so many."

"But you remembered me, Miss Douglas."

"That is different. You were kind to me--about the singing. It is
natural that I should remember."

"And why not as natural that I should remember the singing?"

"Because it was not good enough to have made any especial impression,"
replied Anne, looking at him calmly with her clear violet eyes.

"It was at least new--I mean the simplicity of the little ballad," said
Dext