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The cheeks had lost their roundness and color; the hair had
thinned noticeably; lines of years and pain had taken away the sweet
expression that formerly had counted for so much; the pretty roundness
of the figure was gone, and what charm it now had was due to the
modiste's skill. Peter felt puzzled. Was this the woman for whom he had
so suffered? Was it this memory that had kept him, at thirty-eight,
still a bachelor? Like many another man, he found that he had been
loving an ideal--a creation of his own mind. He had, on a boyish fancy,
built a dream of a woman with every beauty and attraction, and had been
loving it for many years, to the exclusion of all other womankind. Now
he saw the original of his dream, with the freshness and glamour gone,
not merely from the dream, but from his own eyes. Peter had met many
pretty girls, and many sweet ones since that week at the Pierces. He had
gained a very different point of view of women from that callow time.
Peter was not blunderer enough to tell Mrs.


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