girl, the appealing sort, you know. And he has been too busy, up
to now, to know what love is. But mind, don't hurt him; he's a
dear boy. I'm half in love with him myself, and Dallas trots
around at his heels like a poodle."

But all Anne's geese are swans, so I thought little of the
Harbison man except to hope that he played respectable bridge,
and wouldn't mark the cards with a steel spring under his finger
nail, as one of her "finds" had done.

We all arrived about the same time, and Anne and I went upstairs
together to take off our wraps in what had been Bella's dressing
room. It was Anne who noticed the violets.

"Look at that!" she nudged me, when the maid was examining her
wrap before she laid it down. "What did I tell you, Kit? He's
still quite mad about her."

Jim had painted Bella's portrait while they were going up the
Nile on their wedding trip. It looked quite like her, if you
stood well off in the middle of the room and if the light came
from the right. And just beneath it, in a silver vase, was a
bunch of violets. It was really touching, and violets were
fabulous. It made me want to cry, and to shake Bella soundly, and
to go down and pat Jim on his generous shoulder, and tell him
what a good fellow I thought him, and that Bella wasn't worth the
dust under his feet. I don't know much about psychology, but it
would be interesting to know just what effect those violets and
my sympathy for Jim had in influencing my decision a half hour
later. It is not surprising, under the circumstances, that for