excessively dark--penciled, many people thought.

"Mama, this is Mr. Wayne," said Mathilde. Here was another tremendous
moment crowding upon her--the introduction of her beautiful mother to
this new friend, but even more, the introduction to her mother of this
wonderful new friend, whose flavor of romance and interest no one, she
supposed, could miss. Yet Mrs. Farron seemed to be taking it all very
calmly, greeting him, taking his chair as being a trifle more comfortable
than the others, trying to cover the doubt in her own mind whether she
ought to recognize him as an old acquaintance. Was he new or one of the
ones she had seen a dozen times before?

There was nothing exactly artificial in Mrs. Farron's manner, but, like a
great singer who has learned perfect enunciation even in the most trivial
sentences of every-day matters, she, as a great beauty, had learned the
perfection of self-presentation, which probably did not wholly desert her
even in the dentist's chair.

She drew off her long, pale, spotless gloves.

"No tea, my dear," she said. "I've just had it," she added to Wayne,
"with an old aunt of mine. Aunt Alberta," she threw over her shoulder to
Mathilde. "I am very unfortunate, Mr. Wayne; this town is full of my
relations, tucked away in forgotten oases, and I'm their only connection
with the vulgar, modern world. My aunt's favorite excitement is
disapproving of me. She was particularly trying to-day." Mrs. Farron
seemed to debate whether or not it would be tiresome to go thoroughly
into the problem of Aunt Alberta, and to decide that it would; for she
said, with an abrupt change, "Were you at this party last night that
Mathilde enjoyed so much?"