"We are an art-hating people with ugly ideas," continued Cornelia, unheeding his interruption, "and so we grow ugly, unsightly bodies. That is why modern fashionable dressmaking has but one aim: to conceal deformities. But dresses that conceal women’s bad points are sure to conceal their good points, too. A tragic loss! Janet is young and charming; she can stand this loss. I’m on the wrong side of thirty; I can’t." "Are you poking fun at my Brooklyn clothes again?" asked Janet. "If you go on like this, I shall have to ferret out all the secrets of your art, in pure self defence." "We must all take a hand in educating you," said Cornelia, grandly. "My part will be to make you see life as a world of beautiful lines, rhythms, and colors." "What will mine be?" asked Claude. "Yours? To make her see life as a vale of Cashmere—all roses and wine." "And Rob’s?" "Rob will make her see it as a vale of tears—all sermons and social problems. He’ll be a necessary corrective to you." "And to you, too," said Robert, quickly, amidst a general laugh. Janet was now ready to go. As she and Claude left, Cornelia kissed her tenderly and said: "Remember, if anything serious happens at home, _I_ want you, Araminta." *III* Claude instructed his chauffeur to drive across Manhattan Bridge through Prospect Park and along the Coney Island Road until the signal should be given to turn back to Janet’s home in the Park Slope section. Then he took his seat in the closed car beside his companion. It was a warm spring day, and an agreeable wind from the bay blew upon them through the open windows as they crossed the East River. The breeze, the river, and the motion joined to chase from Janet’s mind the shadow of the scene that awaited her at home. Besides, there was the god at her side. Nearness did not rob him of his divinity, it did not make him grow commonplace. And although some of the glamor of his strangeness wore away, she liked him all the better for being a human god and for having human weaknesses that caused his diviner side to seem all the more real. Janet never gushed, and even her most fervent adorations were shot through with a cool streak of matter-of-fact perception. Claude was very happy, too. Philandering had few new sweets to offer him. Yet Janet was a novelty in every way. What was unique in her was her disinterestedness, a quality he did not consciously credit her with, however, since he did not believe that any woman possessed it. All the young ladies he had ever known had either struck attitudes at his social position or groveled more or less openly before his wealth. According to his view of women, their one aim in life was to get money out of him; by marriage if possible, by fouler means if not. But Janet was different.