"Oh, he looks at everything.

I never saw such eyes." There was the note of accomplishment, of success, in her voice, and she brushed her fine, soft hair with long, vigorous strokes which had in them something of this same quality of unwavering confidence.

To look at her as she sat, relaxed yet dominant, before the glass, was to recognize that she was a woman who had achieved the purpose of her life, who had succeeded in whatever she had undertaken.

Not a great purpose, perhaps--there were hours when her purpose seemed to her to be particularly trivial--but still, great or small, she had accomplished it.

She was not only directing Dinard's now--she _was_ Dinard's.