For the first time, as they sat under the vine that morning, Ronald contrasted his wife with his dainty, brilliant hostess, and felt that she lost by the contrast--"awkward and ill at ease," self-conscious to a miserable degree.

For the first time Ronald felt slightly ashamed of Dora, and wished that she knew more, and could take some part in the conversation.

Dimples and smiles, curling rings of dark hair, and pretty rosebud lips were, he thought, all very well, but a man grew tired of them in time, unless there was something to keep up the charm.

But poor little Dora had no resources beyond her smiles and tears.

She sat shrinking and timid, half frightened at the bright lady who knew so much and told it so well; feeling her heart cold with its first dread that Ronald was not pleased with her.