"Ah, very likely," rejoined Arnold in an expressionless voice. "I know a man who is always painting pictures of that kind. His girls are always going to suffer for their faith, and they have many costumes, but only one face. It becomes monotonous." Mrs. Verdon laughed. "I had my portrait painted once," she said, "but it wasn't like me--it was too intense. I couldn't look like that unless my whole nature had changed. I don't like strong feelings, they make life so uncomfortable." "Very uncomfortable," assented Mrs. Tell in a lazy voice. "And, besides, they are undignified. You are always so deliciously calm, Katherine, that you make people fall in love with repose." "This house would be a home for the lotus-eaters," said Mrs. Verdon. "I love perfumes and stillness and subdued light. Jamie exercises his lungs and legs in the top rooms, but he seldom breaks the tranquillity that reigns downstairs." When they sat in the drawing-room after dinner, Arnold mentally decided that it was very easy to fall in love with repose--for a little while. Katherine talked to him in her silvery tones, looking at him now and then with her pretty, faint smile. The folds of the delicate mauve gown trailed over the rich carpet. She leant lazily back in her chair, waving a plumy fan, sometimes, with a soft, even motion. The doors of the conservatory were open; light curtains were looped back, giving glimpses of a mass of blossoms; the atmosphere was laden with perfumes. Yes, it was all very pleasant--for a little while. Arnold Wayne did not try to persuade himself that he should enjoy it always. His was not the temperament of the lotus-eater. His nature craved a rich, warm life, full of strong light and shade. Still, he was glad when Mrs. Verdon told him that she should start for Rushbrook in a fortnight. "I have taken The Cedars again," she said. "The air agreed with Jamie and me last year. We both want to be freshened up. It will be nice to be near the Danforths; I get on with them so well." "They are always talking about you," rejoined Arnold, with perfect truth. When he was gone, the two widows sat in silence for a little while. The elder knitted diligently; the younger toyed with her feathery fan. "What do you think of him, Olivia?" Mrs. Verdon asked at last. There was a faint ring of impatience in her tone. She had been waiting for the other to speak first. "There is something uncommon in him which makes him attractive," replied Mrs. Tell, without glancing up from her work. "And he doesn't seem anxious to attract. Not that he is indifferent, but----" "Of course he is not indifferent." Katherine's silvery voice was shriller than usual. "I found it very easy to please him. But he is not a gushing man. I hate gushing men." "So do I," returned Mrs. Tell. "No, he is not gushing; but I think--yes, I am sure--that he could be emotional if he were to let himself go."