Joan spoke, "You mean I'm awful homely, Mr. Gael?"

The question set him to laughing outrageously. Joan's pride was stung.

"You've no right to laugh at me," she said. "I'd not be carin' what

you think." And she left him, moving like an angry stag, head high,

light-stepping.

He went back to his work, not at all in regret at her pique and still

amused by the utter femininity of her simple question.

Before dinner he rapped at her door. "Joan, will you do me a favor?"

A pause, then, in her sweet, vibrant voice, she answered, "I'd be

doin' anything fer you, Mr. Gael."

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"Then, put on these things for dinner instead of your own clothes,

will you?"

She opened the door and he piled into her arms a mass of shining silk,

on top of it a pair of gorgeous Chinese slippers.

"Do it to please me, even if you think it makes you look queer, will

you, Joan?"

"Of course," she smiled, looking up from the gleaming, sliding stuff

into his face. "I'd like to, anyway. Dressing-up--that's fun."

And she shut the door.

She spread the silk out on the bed and found it a loose robe of dull

blue, embroidered in silver dragons and lined with brilliant rose.

There was a skirt of this same rose-colored stuff. In one weighted

pocket she found a belt of silver coins and a little vest of creamy

lace. There were rose silk stockings stuffed into the shoes. Joan

eagerly arrayed herself. She had trouble with the vest, it was so

filmy, so vaguely made, it seemed to her, and to wear it at all she

had to divest herself altogether of the upper part of her coarse

underwear. Then it seemed to her startlingly inadequate even as an

undergarment. However, the robe did go over it, and she drew that

close and belted it in. It was provided with long sleeves and fell to

her ankles. She thrilled at the delightful clinging softness of silk

stockings and for the first time admired her long, round ankles and

shapely feet. The Chinese slippers amused her, but they too were

beautiful, all embroidered with flowers and dragons.

She felt she must look very queer, indeed, and went to the mirror.

What she saw there surprised her because it was so strange, so

different. Pierre had not dealt in compliments. His woman was his

woman and he loved her body. To praise this body, surrendered in love

to him, would have been impossible to the reverence and reserve of his

passion.




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