Contrary Mary

by Temple Bailey

"I want them to see the other picture," Porter said.

Colin switched on the lights. "I'll never do better than this," he said.

"Do you like it, Mary?" Delilah asked. "It is the garden party dress."

"I love it," Mary said. "It isn't just the dress, Delilah. It's you. It's so joyous—as if you were expecting much of life."

"I am," Delilah said. "I'm expecting everything."

"And you'll get it," Colin stated. "You won't wait for any one to hand it to you; you'll simply reach out and take it."

Porter's eyes were searching. "Look here, Quale," he said, at last, "do you mind letting us see the others?—that Botticelli woman and the Fra Angelico—they show your versatility."

Colin hesitated. "They are crude beside this."

But Porter insisted. "They're charming. Trot them out, Quale."

So out they came—-the picture of the lank lady with the long face, and the picture of the little saint in red.