courtesy.

"Really, Casey?"

"Of course," he assured her. "You know how to wear clothes. And you
know you look particularly well in white. I've told you so before."

"Once."

"Half a dozen times."

"No--once. I remember it very well, because you don't often notice what
I have on. Perhaps that's lucky, too."

"If it's you in the clothes, that's good enough."

"That's just the trouble. You accept me as part of the everyday
scenery. I might wear a blanket, for all you'd care."

"I've seen some mighty becoming blanket costumes."

"I'm not a _klootch_," she flashed. "I'm a white woman, and when I wear
a becoming dress I like somebody to tell me so."

"And didn't I just tell you?"

"So you did--and I'll put a ring around the date. It's the first time
you've condescended to pay me a compliment in a year. You men are the
limit. You take it as a matter of course that a girl should be neat and
spick and span. If she wasn't you'd notice it soon enough. It's easy
for a girl like this Miss Burnaby. I don't suppose she ever did a day's
work or anything useful in her life. She orders her clothes from the
best places, and gets them fitted and sent home, and that's all there
is to it. But how about me? I've got a hundred things to attend to
every day. I've got to make my own clothes, or take a long chance on a
mail-order house. That's why, when I do get anything that looks
passable, I like it to be noticed."

"That's so," he admitted. "That's natural. I never thought of it,
Sheila, and that's the truth. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Oh, heavens! Casey, I'm sorry I did now. Why do men have to be _told_?
I don't get taken this way often. Women and dogs have to be thankful
for small mercies. Only a dog can shove a cold, wet nose into his
master's hand and get a pat and a kind word; but a woman----"

She broke off, colouring furiously. The red tide surged over cheeks and
brow to the roots of her hair. For the first time, with him, she was
afraid of being misunderstood.

But Casey's perceptions, fairly acute where men and affairs were
concerned, quite failed to grasp the situation. He saw only that
Sheila, ordinarily sensible and dependable, had flown off the handle
over something, and he metaphorically threw up his hands helplessly at
the vagaries of women.

"Well, well, now, never mind," he said, in blundering consolation. "You
look well in anything. I've often noticed, but I didn't think you cared
for compliments