said she disdainfully.

``ALL?'' cried Hull. ``Use your imagination, Jen. But I
forgot--you're a woman. They see only surfaces.''

``And are snared into marrying by complexions and pretty features
and dresses and silly flirting tricks,'' retorted the girl
sarcastically.

Hull laughed. ``I spoke too quick that time,'' said he. ``I
suppose you expected to see something out of a fifteenth century
Italian old master! Well--it was there, all right.''

Jane shrugged her shoulders. ``And your Victor Dorn,'' said she,
``no doubt he's seated in some dry, comfortable place enjoying
the thought of his men making fools of themselves for him.''

They were drawing up to the curb before the Opera House where
were the assembly rooms. ``There he is now,'' cried Hull.

Jane, startled, leaned eagerly forward. In the rain beyond the
edge of the awning stood a dripping figure not unlike that other
which had so disappointed her. Underneath the brim of the hat
she could see a smooth- shaven youngish face--almost boyish. But
the rain streaming from the brim made satisfactory scrutiny
impossible.

Jane again sank back. ``How many carriages before us?'' she
said.