luxurious affair, but hers, hers alone; at the porcelain-lined bathroom, twinkling like a cut gem with many surfaces. Her morning and evening bath had become a delightful indulgence to Sheilah of which she was almost ashamed. She was, at heart, fearfully epicurean, she was afraid. Cicely had put a large bottle of lavender-colored bathing-salts in the bottom drawer of her trunk. Precious stones, Sheilah liked to fancy, as she sprinkled them profligately morning and night in the cream-colored tub. Bathing in dissolved amethysts, which left behind a faint, fluttering perfume, like that of 'a single wet wood-violet,' Roger Dallinger had said one day.
Sheilah turned her head now sidewise, and bent it to her bare shoulder, with the gesture of a dove preening her neck-feathers, to see if she could catch the elusive fragrance. Then shrugged and made a wry smile at herself in the mirror. How quickly frying potatoes over the kitchen stove at home would consume the perfume of a single wet wood-violet!
In spite of her lingering, Sheilah was ready for dinner early to-night. When she came downstairs, she joined the group on the verandah, gathered to watch the sunset. Several of the Outsiders were there, Roger among them, besides others of the hotel guests. There was an exceptionally beautiful display to-night of salmon-colored sky and violet clouds.
