"Well, it’s all in the day’s work—it’s family life," said the old gentleman, trying to keep up a brave front. He shuffled off with a rueful smile. Janet almost felt ashamed of her malice as she watched his reluctant steps and pictured his terror of her mother. His kindliness and good nature had once endeared him to her. But she could not check a growing contempt for his weakness of character. It was clearer to her every day that her mother’s cruel bigotry had not been half so fraught with tragic consequences as her father’s spinelessness and moral cowardice. "Family life—all in the day’s work!" she repeated to herself with a trembling lip. "Well, I don’t mean to have a lifetime of days like this." Then she went upstairs to her own room and wrote Cornelia Covert a note of acceptance. *CHAPTER FOUR* *I* "There, isn’t she sweet?" said Cornelia to Robert, as she put the last touch to a pomegranate sash. She was referring to Janet, whom she had costumed with all her artistic cunning as a sort of gypsy Carmen. The night of the Outlaws’ ball was at hand; and Cornelia’s flat, number fifteen of the Lorillard model tenements, was the rendezvous for several of the maskers. "Isn’t she _beautiful_?" insisted Cornelia, pitching her languid voice high. She pointed proudly to her handiwork (rather than to its wearer), for she was determined to have it admired by all who stood near. "She is charming, and her voice is beautiful," said Robert, in cool dispassionate appraisal. "No one ever called my voice beautiful before!" said Janet, with unfeigned delight, in spite of the scientific detachment of Robert’s tone. "I shall make you conscious of _all_ your attractions, if you’ll give me time," added Robert, with much more fervor than before. "Ought we to be conscious of our attractions?" asked Janet dubiously, for in the Barr environment it was bad form to call attention to anything but detractions. The immemorial Barr practice bound members of the same family to make the worst of one another’s good qualities. "Decidedly," answered Robert. "A wise man should take care to know his good points no less than his bad points, precisely as he takes care to know his assets as well as his liabilities." "Yes, leave it to Cato," cried Cornelia mockingly. She had a nickname for each of her friends. "He’ll tell you all about yourself, until your soul will cease to seem your own. He’ll beautify you—" "Oh, if he only will!" cut in Janet, with one of her fluent graceful gestures which it was a rare delight merely to see. "I can stand no end of that." "He’ll beautify you—morally, my dear," concluded Cornelia. "His conversation is so improving. He re-creates people in his own image. It’s his specialty." Janet’s fine gray eyes narrowed to a hostile glance. "It’s my mother’s specialty, too," she said, coldly.