She thought the sparkle was all for her, and her little
wicked heart gave a throb of exultant joy.
Mrs. Dare was no longer a large, purple person. She was in full evening
dress, explaining that she and her husband had an engagement at the
opera after dinner. She resembled the fat dough people that the cook
used to fashion for him in his youth. Her pudgy arms so reminded him of
those shapeless cooky arms that he found himself fascinated by the
thought as he watched her moving her bejeweled hands among the trinkets
at her end of the glittering table. Her gown, what there was of it, was
of black gauze emblazoned with dartling sequins of deep blue. An aigret
in her hair twinkled knowingly above her coarse, painted face.
Courtland, as he studied her more closely, rejoiced that the telegram
had arrived before he left the dormitory, for he never could have had
the courage to come to this plump-shouldered lady seeking refuge for his
refined little Bonnie girl.
The father of the family was a little wisp of a man with a nervous laugh
and a high, thin voice. There were kind lines around his mouth and eyes,
indulgent lines--not self-indulgent, either, and insomuch they were
noble--but there was a weakness about the face that showed he was ruled
by others to a large extent. He said, "Yes, my dear!" quite obediently
when his wife ordered him affably around. There was a cunning look in
his eye that might explain the general impression current that he knew
how to turn a dollar to his own account.
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