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He looked steadily into her brown eyes for a few moments. Then

her gaze dropped and a dull flush mounted from her neck until it

suffused her face.

He had never seen her look so beautiful. The wealth of her black

hair was coiled about the top of her head like a crown, and held

in its depths a silver butterfly.

Her gown was Quaker gray in color, and of some soft clinging

material that enhanced the lines of her figure. It was an evening

gown, and cut just low enough to be at the same time modest and

beautiful. Code, without knowing why, admired her taste and told

himself that she erred in no particular. Her mode of life was, at

the same time, elegant and feminine--exactly suited her.

"You are easily made happy," he remarked, referring to her last

sentence.

"No, I'm not," she contradicted him seriously. "I am the hardest

woman in the world to make happy."

"And helping me does it?"

"Yes."