children, and her manner was much the same in each instance. She
was justly called a strong character, but she made herself felt
after the fashion of an artist with his hammer and chisel. Carved
work is cold and rigid at best.

Mildred had not as yet impressed people as a strong character. On
the contrary, she had seemed peculiarly gentle and yielding. Vinton
Arnold, however, in his deep need had instinctively half guessed
the truth, for her influence was like that of a warm day in spring,
undemonstrative, not self-asserting, but most powerful. The
tongue-tied could speak in her presence; the diffident found in
her a kindly sympathy which gave confidence; men were peculiarly
drawn toward her because she was so essentially womanly without
being silly. Although as sprightly and fond of fun as most young
girls of her age, they recognized that she was perfectly truthful
and loyal to all that men--even bad men--most honor in a woman.
They always had a good time in her society, and yet felt the better
and purer for it. Life blossomed and grew bright about her from
some innate influence that she exerted unconsciously. After all
there was no mystery about it. She had her faults like others, but
at heart she was genuinely good and unselfish. The gentle mother
had taught her woman's best graces of speech and manner; nature
had endowed her with beauty, and to that the world always renders
homage.

There are thousands of very pretty girls who have no love for beauty
save their own, which they do their best to spoil by self-homage.
To Mildred, on the contrary, the beautiful was as essential as
her daily food, and she excelled in all the dainty handicrafts by
which women can make a home attractive. Therefore her own little