f passionless, motionless repose, like classic sculpture,
was sharply and startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful
eyes--deeply and intensely blue, brilliant, all seeing, all
comprehending, eyes that seemed never to sleep, seemed the ceaselessly
industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without pause. The
contrast between the dead white calm of his face, the listlessness of
his relaxed figure, and these vivid eyes, so intensely alive, gave to
Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was most disagreeable to
Mildred.

"That's what fascinates me," said Cyrilla, when they were discussing
him one day.

"Fascinates!" exclaimed Mildred. "He's tiresome--when he isn't rude."

"Rude?"

"Not actively rude but, worse still, passively rude."

"He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself
falling in love," said Mrs. Brindley.

Mildred laughed in derision. "Why, he's a dead man!" cried she.

"You don't understand," said Cyrilla. "You've never lived with a man."
She forgot completely, as did Mildred herself, so completely had Mrs.
Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl. "At home--to
live with--you want only reposeful things. That is why the Greeks,
whose instincts were unerring, had so much reposeful statuary. One
grows weary of agitating objects. They soon seem hysterical and
shallow. The same thing's true of persons. For permanent love and
friendship you want reposeful men--calm, strong, silent. The other
kind either wear you out or wear themselves out with you."

"You forget his eyes," put in Stanley. "Did you ever see such eyes!"

"Yes, those eyes of his!" cried Mildred. "You certainly can't call
them reposeful, Mrs. Brindley."

Mrs. Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict her of
inconsistency. Said she:

"I admit the eyes. They're the eyes of the kind of man a woman wants,
or another man wants in his friend. When Keith looks at you, you feel
that you are seeing the rarest being in the world--an absolutely
reliable person. When I think of him I think of reliable, just as when
you think of the sun you think of brightness."

"I had no idea it was so serious as this," teased Stanley.

"Nor had I," returned Cyrilla easily, "until I began to talk about him.
Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he might take advantage of me."

The idea amused Stanley. "He doesn't care a rap about women," said he.
"I hear he has let a few care about him from ti