hatred or malice in all the world.

Marcus Gard advanced into the drawing room, the sound of his name,
announced at the door, causing sudden and free passage to the center of
attraction. He beamed upon Mrs. Marteen with real pleasure in her
stately loveliness, and turned to Dorothy, who, her face alight with
greeting, came frankly toward him. From the moment of their first
meeting there had been instant understanding and liking. Gard took her
outstretched hands with an almost fatherly thrill.

"You are undoubtedly a pleasing sight, Miss Marteen," he smiled; "and a
long life and a merry one to you. Your daughter does you credit, dear
lady," he added, turning to his hostess.

Dorothy, bubbling over with enthusiasm, claimed his hand again. "It was
so sweet of you to send me that necklace in those wonderful flowers.
See--I'm wearing it." She fondled a slender seed pearl rope at her
throat. "Mother told me it was far too beautiful and I must send it
back. But I was most undutiful. I said I wouldn't--just wouldn't. I know
you picked it out for me yourself--now, didn't you?" He nodded somewhat
whimsically. "There! I told mother so; and it would be rude, most rude,
not to accept it--wouldn't it?"

He laughed gruffly. "It certainly would--and, really, you know your
mother has a mania for refusing things. Why, I owe her--never mind, I
won't tell you now--but I would have felt very much hurt, Miss
Debutante, if you'd thrown back my little present. I'm sure I selected
something quite modest and inconspicuous.... Dear me, I'm blocking the
whole doorway. Pardon me."