severe, old-fashioned wife. How would she talk to her? And Mrs.
Addison! She would know and see everything. Aileen almost talked
out loud to herself in a consoling way as she dressed, so strenuous
were her thoughts; but she went on, adding the last touches to her
physical graces.

When she finally went down-stairs to see how the dining and reception
rooms looked, and Fadette began putting away the welter of discarded
garments--she was a radiant vision--a splendid greenish-gold figure,
with gorgeous hair, smooth, soft, shapely ivory arms, a splendid
neck and bust, and a swelling form. She felt beautiful, and yet
she was a little nervous--truly. Frank himself would be critical.
She went about looking into the dining-room, which, by the caterer's
art, had been transformed into a kind of jewel-box glowing with
flowers, silver, gold, tinted glass, and the snowy whiteness of
linen. It reminded her of an opal flashing all its soft fires.
She went into the general reception-room, where was a grand piano
finished in pink and gold, upon which, with due thought to her one
accomplishment--her playing--she had arranged the songs and
instrumental pieces she did best. Aileen was really not a brilliant
musician. For the first time in her life she felt matronly--as
if now she were not a girl any more, but a woman grown, with some
serious responsibilities, and yet she was not really suited to the
role. As a matter of fact, her thoughts were always fixed on the
artistic, social, and dramatic aspects of life, with unfortunately
a kind of nebulosity of conception which permitted no condensation
into anything definite or concrete. She could only be wildly and
feverishly interested. Just then the door clicked to Frank's
key--it was nearing six--and in he came, smiling, confident, a
perfect atmosphere of assurance.