repose. There was the graceful
figure of Isabel by the window, with the yet dewy grass and the distant
rolling, boundless meadow for a background. And there was in Isabel's
brown calico dress a faultlessness of fit, and a suitableness of color--a
perfect harmony, like that of music. There was real art, pure and
refined, in her dress, as in the arrangement of the room. Albert was
angry with it, while he felt its effect; it was as though she had set
herself there to be admired. But nothing was further from her thought.
The artist works not for the eyes of others, but for his own, and Isabel
Marlay would have taken not one whit less of pains if she could have been
assured that no eye in the universe would look in upon that
frontier-village parlor.

I said that Charlton was vexed. He was vexed because he felt a weakness
in himself that admired such "gewgaws," as he called everything relating
to dress or artistic housekeeping. He rejoiced mentally in the
superiority of Helen Minorkey, who gave her talents to higher themes. And
yet he felt a sense of restfulness in this cool room, where every color
was tuned to harmony with every other. He was struck, too, with the
gracefulness of Isa's figure. Her face was not handsome, but the good
genius that gave her the feeling of an artist must have molded her own
form, and every lithe motion was full of poetry. You have seen some
people who made upon you the impression that they were beautiful, and yet
the beauty was all in a statuesque figure and a graceful carriage. For it
makes every difference how a face is carried.

The conversation between Charlton and Miss Marlay had not gone far in the
matter of Katy and Smith Westcott until Albert found that her instincts
had set more against the man than even his convictions. A woman like
Isabel Marlay is never so fine as in her indignation, and there never was
any indignation finer than Isa Marlay's when she spoke of the sacrifice
of such a girl as Katy to such a man as Westcott. In his admiration of
her thorough-going earnestness, Albert forgave her devotion to domestic
pursuits and the arts of dress and ornamentation. He found sailing with
her earnestness much pleasanter than he had found rowing against it on
the occasion of his battle about the clergy.

"What can I do, Miss Marlay?" Albert did not ask her what she could do.
A self-reliant man at his time of life always asks first what he
himself can do.

"I can not think of anything