WHITEWASH
the perfect. His heart sang as he pulled up before the wide, old-fashioned front of the house, and his smile held all his love and trust enthroned, as he saw her graceful figure step between the swinging-doors and descend to meet him.
She looked up into his face with eyes of such superhuman innocence that his soul went out to her. And this was the woman Victoria had dared to accuse of lying, duplicity, veniality, vanity, the quartet of feminine vices he most detested. Philippa, the down-trodden angel, appealed to all the chivalry in him. It was with a new and protecting tenderness that he assisted her to her place at his side. Heretofore she had dazzled and baffled him, now she was his to shield and comfort, and the joy of it was very keen.
"Well, dear?" she said as they turned toward the Park.
"Very well, dear," he answered, happily. "And you?"
"I'm tired," she said, her voice full of the infantile, pathetic quality that so endeared her to those who did not know her. "Let's see, I dined out last night, since you had your old
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