"If Helen was here, people would see real beauty," answered Anne, with some scorn.
"They are a contrast, I admit; opposite types. But we must not be narrow, Phyllis; you will find that people continue to look at Mrs. Bannert, no matter who is by. Here is some one who seems to know you."
"Mr. Dexter," said Anne, as the tall form drew near. "He is a friend of Helen's."
"Helen has a great many friends. However, I happen to have heard of this Mr. Dexter. You may present him to me—I hope you know how."
All Madame Moreau's pupils knew how. Anne performed her task properly, and Dexter, bringing forward one of the old broken-backed chairs (which formed part of the "woody and uncloying flavor" of Caryl's), sat down beside them.
"I am surprised that you remembered me, Mr. Dexter," said the girl. "You saw me but once, and on New-Year's Day too, among so many."
"But you remembered me, Miss Douglas."
"That is different. You were kind to me—about the singing. It is natural that I should remember."
"And why not as natural that I should remember the singing?"
"Because it was not good enough to have made any especial impression," replied Anne, looking at him calmly with her clear violet eyes.