“Then show your appreciation my way. Don’t spoil my pleasure by looking suspiciously on every decent deed I try to do. You act, positively, as if you thought I was jealous of your looks. Why, you make a wonderful foil for me! Several have spoken of it. Even Dr. Shayle who, being redheaded himself, has a natural preference for brunettes, agreed with me yesterday that you and I are as different as two women could be. Do you know----” Catherine hesitated, as if from modesty. When she continued it was with that air of saying something especially thoughtful and original with which she now and then substantiated her claim to “brains.” “Of course everybody has some favorite type of feminine beauty. This man admires a woman in whom his best friend can’t see any charm. A third appreciates another whose good looks neither of the first two will admit. And so on. But about myself---- It is a strange thing that when I was a young girl, every artist who came to my father’s house to examine those alleged ‘old masters’ I was telling you about used to beg to paint me. I remember one of them explaining it by the theory that a golden blond is humanized sunshine--and that sunshine is something craved by everyone. Perhaps it sounds vain for me to repeat, but they were agreed that my type was the only one universally admired.” Far from thinking her vain, Dolores almost envied her the pleasure she could take in her own looks. People generally spoke of “the beautiful Mrs. Cabot,” perhaps for just that reason--that people generally enjoyed sunshine. “And now that I am trying to shed some few beams your way, you spoil the spirit of the thing right at the start. You might think of others than yourself.” That the reproach had effect on Dolores showed in the startled question of the purple-black eyes. Catherine proceeded to reply: “We’re not so happy in this shell of a home but that we might be happier. I am not speaking of myself so much as--as my husband. He needs cheering up and I, somehow, have lost the power to cheer him. I’ve thought that perhaps you could help. Despite his taciturnity, he likes you for what you have done for Jack. If you wouldn’t be so shy with him, would just talk to him naturally, study him and try to please him, you know, you would be accomplishing--well, more than you possibly can realize. I’d be in your debt, not you in mine. You’ve never received anything approaching an order since you came to us, have you? And, Heaven knows, I don’t wish you to consider anything I suggest in that light. Only I _should_ like you to join us at dinner to-night.” * * * * * Rufus Holt was dapper in stature, but of an expansive personality. Although crinkled around the eyes and slightly bald, he had the spontaneity of eternal youth. From first glance, he directed toward Dolores a sort of friendly homage.