"We really wore our hair in that style, didn't we?" he continued humorously. "And yet the thunderbolts spared us. And that classy thing in ties! By jove! Persis, you'll have to make me a present of this for old times' sake. This pretty picture of smiling innocence gets on my nerves. I shall feel easier when it has been consigned to the flames." From the armchair Persis spoke. Her voice was low and distinct. "Let that picture alone." The accent of authority was unmistakable. Justin Ware turned, and stood transfixed by what he saw. Persis' cheeks were crimson, her eyes ablaze. His astonishment over the discovery that she was angry, blended with surprised admiration. Persis in a fury was almost a handsome woman. He went back to his chair, a trifle uncertain as to the next move. He had made a study of women, too, but this country dressmaker baffled him for the moment. Her heated defense of his picture would have suggested a conclusion flattering to his vanity had it not been for the incongruous fact that seemingly her anger was directed against himself. There was a piquant flavor to the situation gratifying to his epicure's taste. "It's good of you to stand up for the fellow, Persis. You always were kind-hearted, I remember. But really isn't this stretching charity too far? Such a Rube is meant to be laughed at. There's nothing else to do with him. And to think that he and I were one only--let's see, how many years has it been?" "We won't talk about that picture any more." He regarded her humorously through the haze of smoke. "And why not?" "He's a friend of mine. I don't care to have him laughed at!" "But you forget my relation to the gentleman, my dear Persis. If any one should be sensitive, it surely is I." "You've nothing to do with him," Persis declared, biting off her words in peppery mouthfuls. "You're as much of a stranger to him as you are to me. We'll just let him alone. There's things enough to talk about, I should hope, without making fun of that poor boy." "Suppose I give you one of my late photographs in exchange for the cherub with the curly locks." "I don't want it." Justin was a trifle taken aback. He had hardly made the offer before he had accused himself of indiscretion. To be sure Persis was taking a very proper attitude. She showed no inclination to presume on the sentimental phase of their former acquaintance. She had said distinctly that they were strangers. And yet it was as well to be guarded. The bluntness of her retort gave him an almost rueful conviction of the needlessness of caution. The flame of Persis' anger had burned itself out almost immediately, but the red embers still glowed in her eyes, and her cheeks were hot. She changed the subject with no pretense at finesse: "You seen Minerva Leveridge yet?" "I don't seem to recall any one of that name."