"Money buys a very good counterfeit. Lots of the women who come here aren't ladies, not in the sense that you mean it, but on the surface you can't tell them apart." He knew that it was true. No one knows better than a doctor what is beneath the veneer of social convention and personal hypocrisy. "And as for Jean," her quiet voice analyzed, "what do you know of her, really? You've kept her shut away from the things that could hurt her, but how do you know what will happen when you open the gate?" Yet Emily had said--? His hand came down on top of the desk. "I think we won't discuss Jean." "Very well, but you brought it on yourself. And now please go away, I've got to finish this and get back--" He went reluctantly, and returned to say, "You'll come over again before I sail, and straighten things out for me?" "Of course." "You don't act as if you cared whether I went or not." "I care, of course. But don't expect me to cry. I am not the crying kind." The little room was full of sunlight. She was very pink and white and self-possessed. She smiled straight up into his face. "What good would it do me to cry?" After she had left him he was restless. She had been for so long a part of his life, a very necessary and pleasant part of it. She never touched his depths or rose to his heights. She seemed to beckon, yet not to care when he came. He spoke of her that night to Emily. "Hilda was here to-day and she reminded me that people might think that my daughter is marrying Derry Drake for his money." "She would look at it like that." "When Hilda talks to me"--he was rumpling his hair--"I have a feeling that all the people in the world are unlovely--" "There are plenty of unlovely people," said Emily, "but why should we worry with what they think?" She was knitting, and he found himself watching her hands. "You have pretty hands," he told her, unexpectedly. She held them out in front of her. "When I was a little girl my mother told me that I had three points of beauty--my hands, my feet, and the family nose," she smiled whimsically, "and she assured me that I would therefore never be common-place. 'Any woman may be beautiful,' was her theory, 'but only a woman with good blood in her veins can have hands and feet and a nose like yours--.' I was dreadfully handicapped in the beginning of my life by my mother's point of view. I am afraid that even now if the dear lady looks down from Heaven and sees me working in my Toy Shop she will feel the family disgraced by this one member who is in trade. It was only in the later years that I found myself, that I realized how I might reach out towards things which were broader and bigger than the old ideals of aristocratic birth and inherited possessions." He thought of Hilda. "Yet it gave you something, Emily," he said, slowly, "that not every woman has: good-breeding, and the ability to look above the sordid. You are like Jean--all your world is rose-colored."