“Yes, Justin introduced him, but he hardly spoke to me.”
“That doesn’t make any difference, he sent them before he saw you at all. I told him you were coming, and these arrived this afternoon. You needn’t feel particularly flattered; he sends them to everybody.”
“Sends them to everybody!” Dosia looked amazed.
“Oh, yes; he’s rich, and devoted to girls. They laugh at him, but I notice that they are quite ready to accept his flowers and candy and tickets for the opera. I believe that he wants to get married; but he really is sensible and quite nice underneath it all.”
“Oh!” said Dosia, indefinably revolted. “And—and is Mr. Barr like that, too?”
“Who, Lawson? Oh, dear, no; he can’t even support himself, let alone sending presents.”
“He said such queer things,” ventured Dosia, with a shy desire to talk about him. “I did not know what to make of it at first.”
“Oh, nobody pays any attention to what Lawson says,” said Lois indifferently.
Dosia longed to ask why, with an instant wave of resentment at this way of speaking; a cloud seemed suddenly to have descended upon the glittering possibilities of her future. She fixed her eyes on her cousin, who sat in a high, slender chair, one arm gowned in yellow silk thrown over the back of it, and her cheek upon her arm—her rich coloring, the grace of her attitude, the sweep of her long black skirt, made a deep impression on the mind of the little country girl, who seemed slight and meager and insignificant to herself. And this other woman had been loved—she had passed through all the experiences to which Dosia looked forward. Was it that which gave her this charm thrown over her like a gauzy veil?
“What a beautiful waist you have on!” she exclaimed impulsively. “Yellow is such a lovely color.”