"There is no comfort for us in ourselves,"she said."It's hard to get outside;but there's only despair within.When we think we have done something for others,by some great effort,we find it's all for our own vanity.""Yes,"said Beaton."If I could paint pictures for righteousness'sake,I should have been glad to do Conrad Dryfoos for his father.I felt sorry for him.Did the rest seem very much broken up?You saw them all?""Not all.Miss Dryfoos was ill,her sister said.It's hard to tell how much people suffer.His mother seemed bewildered.The younger sister is a simple creature;she looks like him;I think she must have something of his spirit.""Not much spirit of any kind,I imagine,"said Beaton."But she's amiably material.Did they say Miss Dryfoos was seriously ill?""No.I supposed she might be prostrated by her brother's death.""Does she seem that kind of person to you,Miss Vance?"asked Beaton.
"I don't know.I haven't tried to see so much of them as I might,the past winter.I was not sure about her when I met her;I've never seen much of people,except in my own set,and the--very poor.I have been afraid I didn't understand her.She may have a kind of pride that would not let her do herself justice."Beaton felt the unconscious dislike in the endeavor of praise."Then she seems to you like a person whose life--its trials,its chances--would make more of than she is now?""I didn't say that.I can't judge of her at all;but where we don't know,don't you think we ought to imagine the best?""Oh yes,"said Beaton."I didn't know but what I once said of them might have prejudiced you against them.I have accused myself of it."He always took a tone of conscientiousness,of self-censure,in talking with Miss Vance;he could not help it.
"Oh no.And I never allowed myself to form any judgment of her.She is very pretty,don't you think,in a kind of way?""Very."
"She has a beautiful brunette coloring:that floury white and the delicate pink in it.Her eyes are beautiful.""She's graceful,too,"said Beaton."I've tried her in color;but Ididn't make it out."
"I've wondered sometimes,"said Miss Vance,"whether that elusive quality you find in some people you try to paint doesn't characterize them all through.Miss Dryfoos might be ever so much finer and better than we would find out in the society way that seems the only way.""Perhaps,"said Beaton,gloomily;and he went away profoundly discouraged by this last analysis of Christine's character.The angelic imperviousness of Miss Vance to properties of which his own wickedness was so keenly aware in Christine might have made him laugh,if it had not been such a serious affair with him.As it was,he smiled to think how very differently Alma Leighton would have judged her from Miss Vance's premises.He liked that clear vision of Alma's even when it pierced his own disguises.Yes,that was the light he had let die out,and it might have shone upon his path through life.Beaton never felt so poignantly the disadvantage of having on any given occasion been wanting to his own interests through his self-love as in this.He had no one to blame but himself for what had happened,but he blamed Alma for what might happen in the future because she shut out the way of retrieval and return.When be thought of the attitude she had taken toward him,it seemed incredible,and he was always longing to give her a final chance to reverse her final judgment.It appeared to him that the time had come for this now,if ever.
