"'Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair,'"

he quoted, with a smile. Then: "Will you take our hearts in blue to-night,
Evelyn? You know that I love you best in blue."

She lifted her fan from the table, and waved it lightly to and fro. "I go
in rose color," she said. "'Tis the gown I wore at Lady Rich's rout. I
dare say you do not remember it? But my Lord of Peterborough said"--She
broke off, and smiled to her fan.

Her voice was sweet and slightly drawling. The languid turn of the wrist,
the easy grace of attitude, the beauty of bared neck and tinted face, of
lowered lids and slow, faint smile,--oh, she was genuine fine lady, if she
was not quite Evelyn! A breeze blowing through the open windows stirred
their gay hangings of flowered cotton; the black girl sat in a corner and
sewed; the supple fingers of the hairdresser went in and out of the heavy
hair; roses in a deep blue bowl made the room smell like a garden. Haward
sighed, so pleasant was it to sit quietly in this cool chamber, after the
glare and wavering of the world without. "My Lord of Peterborough is
magnificent at compliments," he said kindly, "but 'twould be a jeweled
speech indeed that outdid your deserving, Evelyn. Come, now, wear the
blue! I will find you white roses; you shall wear them for a breast knot,
and in the minuet return me one again."

Evelyn waved her fan. "I dance the minuet with Mr. Lee." Her tone was
still sweetly languid, her manner most indifferent. The thick and glossy
tress that, drawn forward, was to ripple over white neck and bosom was too
loosely curled. She regarded it in the mirror with an anxious frown, then