the pink-shaded lamp, her clear soft skin, the pure lines of her radiant
childlike beauty, the shadows of her tumbled hair, had been very appealing
and effective. She moved about a trifle restlessly, looking at things
without seeing them. "I'm glad to see the brown trunk. Open it, will you,
dear? Heavens, what a mirror!" She surveyed herself in the flawed glass,
moving from side to side, fascinated at the strange distortions.

"I call it positive extortion, charging what they do for a room like this,"
grumbled Keith, busy at the trunk. "The Sherwoods must pay a mint of money
for theirs. I wonder what he does!"

Her attention attracted by this subject, she arrested her posing before the
mirror.

"They certainly are quick to take the stranger in," she commented lightly.

Something in her tone arrested Keith's attention, and he stopped fussing at
his keys. Nan had meant little by the remark. It had expressed the vague
instinctive recoil of the woman brought up in rather conventional
circumstances and in a conservative community from too sudden intimacy,
nothing more. She did not herself understand this.

"Don't you like the Sherwoods?" he instantly demanded, with the masculine
insistence on dissecting every butterfly.

"Why, she's charming!" said Nan, opening her eyes in surprise. "Of course,
I like her immensely!"

"I should think so," grumbled Keith. "They certainly have been mighty good
to us."