She was at the Louis Quinze desk in the Louis Quinze sitting room, and her old gold negligee matched in charmingly, and the whole setting brought out the sheen, faintly golden, over her clear skin, the peculiarly fresh and intense shade of her violet eyes, the suggestion of gold in her thick hair, with its wan, autumnal coloring, such as one sees in a field of dead ripe grain.

She was doing her monthly accounts, and the showing was not pleasant.

She was a good housekeeper, a surprisingly good manager; but she did too much entertaining for their income.
Dory was too much occupied with the picture she made as she sat there to reply immediately.

"I doubt," he finally replied, "if she could arrange by cable for some one else whom she would trust with her treasures.

No, I guess you'll have to stay." "I _wish_ I hadn't taken this place!" she exclaimed.