She did not know what he meant, but if she were anything that pleased him, it was well.
"Who were those beautiful women ?" she said suddenly, the color mounting into her cheeks.
"What women, my dear ?" "Those I saw at the window with you, the other night--they had jewels." "Oh!--women, tiresome enough.

If I had seen you, I would have dropped you some fruit.

Poor little Bebee! Did you go by, and I never knew ?" "You were laughing--" "Was I ?" "Yes, and they _were_ beautiful." "In their own eyes; not in mine." "No ?" She stopped her spinning and gazed at him with wistful, wondering eyes.
Could it be that they were not beautiful to him?
those deep red, glowing, sun-basked dahlia flowers?
"Do you know," she said very softly, with a flush of penitence that came and went, "when I saw them, I hated them; I confessed it to Father Francis next day.

You seemed so content with, them, and they looked so gay and glad there--and then the jewels! Somehow, I seemed to myself such a little thing, and so ugly and mean.

And yet, do you know--" "And yet--well ?" "They did not look to me good--those women," said Bebee, thoughtfully, looking across at him in deprecation of his possible anger.