"You choose," he agreed. He would like that better; and he hoped that she would talk about her troubles in making her fingers obey her mind while she was doing it. "I could do it now! Twilight is just right on your face--yes, yes!" She drew a long breath as she studied the profile in a moment of silence, which was broken by a voice which might have been her own. "Haven't you loiterers started to dress yet?" It was Henriette in the doorway, a warning finger raised. The doorway made a perfect frame for her; all surroundings seemed to suit her. "I don't wonder you forgot time was passing if you caught Helen in one of her enthusiasms," she added. "Did she tell you how the war stopped her exhibition?" "I'm going to have two portraits now," said Phil. "I begin to think well of myself! It won't take me ten minutes to dress." "Nor me!" said Helen. "A wager! I'll be down first!" She preceded him, two steps at a time, up the stairs. "Do your best and see!" she called, as she darted into her room. Her image in the mirror confronted her and she gave a cry as of amazement at it, which, however, did not permit her to waste any time. She came out of her room at the same instant that Phil opened his door, forgot her part again, and laughing in challenge dashed past him to the stairway, calling over her shoulder: "Down first! Victory!" What she wore was something in white to Phil, but the figure in its suppleness and grace--how like Henriette's it was! Madame Ribot, who had put on her best gown and been an hour with a maid's assistance in the dressing, sat the guest opposite her, feeling that glow of satisfaction which aroused many recollections at having an agreeable man at the function of all functions to her--dinner as cooked by Jacqueline. Yet she would have dressed with equal care if she had been going to eat alone and her finger-nails would have been equally shiny with over-attention; for self-respect's sake, as she would have said. But all who rehearse like an audience when the curtain rises. Helen was silent--her part. Plain girl in plain gown, she might have been the family governess or a companion. Time had drilled her well in the part, time with the memories of pin-pricks behind the scenes. It was through guests that Madame Ribot kept in touch with the world, which was an easier way in this era of her existence than to go to the world. Phil was soon aware that she expected him to tell of his tour of the warring nations. From Henriette came occasional questions and from Helen an infrequent "Yes," as of passion suppressed, until they came to coffee. Then she let go of herself with questions of her own. "Were the women just as mad as the men in Germany?" "Quite." "And the men in the troop trains, with 'Nach Paris' chalked on the wagon doors--the men who were singing, singing as they went out to kill--if one had to go alone up a road to try to murder or be murdered, would he sing then?" "Hardly!"