"Too much red in her hair," Mrs. Bobby repeated blankly; then recovering herself: "But there isn't any, Julian, or very little. I call her hair golden, not red."
"Look at it in the fire-light," Gerard insisted imperturbably, "and you will see that it's a deep red."
"Well, and if it is," said Mrs. Bobby—"not that I admit for a moment that you are right—but if it is, red hair is all the fashion nowadays."
"No doubt," said Gerard. "It's a matter of taste. But for myself I never see a red-haired woman"—He stopped, but went on presently with an effort. "I never see a red-haired woman, that I don't instinctively avoid her. Yes, it's a—a superstition, if you will. I feel that she will be dangerous, somehow or another, perhaps to herself, and certainly to others." A note of unwonted feeling thrilled his voice. He broke off suddenly and stared again into the fire.
Mrs. Bobby sat and watched him in silence. "And so," she said to herself, "that woman's hair was red."
"You see," said Gerard, presently, looking at her with a smile, "I've shown the confidence I repose in you by confessing my pet superstition. Miss Van Vorst's hair is not very red, I admit, except in some lights, but still it's—it's red enough to be dangerous; and that fact, and certain other little things I've noticed about her, incline me to—to avoid her. She puzzles me; I can't quite make her out. Still, she is certainly a girl whom a great many men would—would admire. I'm no criterion, I believe."
"I hope not, I'm sure," said Mrs. Bobby, ruefully "for the sake of most of the women I know. My dear Julian, I despair of ever getting you married."
"My dear Eleanor, if you would only stop trying. Your efforts are, if you will excuse my saying so, a little too transparent. Do you suppose that I imagined this evening that your unpunctuality was entirely accidental?"
"Imagine what you will, you marvel of astuteness," said Eleanor, composedly. "I certainly did not intend to hurry down while I knew Elizabeth to be in such good hands, as I admit yours to be, in spite of certain faults which I hope marriage will improve. And that's why I don't relax my efforts, as you call them, while there is such a superfluity of nice girls in the world, and such an insufficiency of nice men to deserve them. But I'm disappointed about—about Elizabeth Van Vorst," she went on, musingly. "I thought—I don't know why, Julian—but I thought that you would like her."
Gerard started. "I never said that I—didn't like her," he observed.