It was always a secret grievance with her that she had so little positive beauty.

And her husband had never flattered her on the subject.

In the early days of their marriage she had timidly asked him, after one of their bridal dinner-parties in which she had worn her wedding-dress--"Did I look nice to-night?
Do you--do you ever think I look pretty, Arthur ?" And he had looked her over, with an odd change of expression--careless affection passing into something critical and cool:--"I'm never ashamed of you, Doris, in any company.

Won't you be satisfied with that ?" She had been far from satisfied; the phrase had burnt in her memory from then till now.

But she knew Arthur had not meant to hurt her, and she bore him no grudge.