ven those who are the most beautiful, are incapable
of.

"It is just as I imagined about Mr. Nethercliff," says Beatrice,
laughing; "he has been asked here for my benefit. Mamma has just been
telling me about him; he is Lord Garford's nephew and his heir. Lord
Garford's place, you know, is quite the other side of the county; he is
poor, so I suppose I might do for him," with a little grimace. "At all
events, I am to sit next to him at dinner to-night, and make myself
civil. You see, I am to be offered to all the county magnates in
succession."

Herbert Pryme still holds her hands, and looks down with grave vexation
into her face.

"And how do you suppose I shall feel whilst Mr. Nethercliff is making
love to you?"

"You may make your mind quite easy; it is impossible that there should be
another man foolish enough in all England to want to make love to such an
'ugly duckling' as I am!"

"Don't be silly, child, and don't fish for compliments," he answers,
fondly, stroking her short dark hair, which he thinks so characteristic
of herself.

Beatrice looks up happily at him. A woman is always at her very best when
she is alone with the man she loves. Unconsciously, all the charms she
possesses are displayed in her glistening eyes, and in the colour which
comes and goes in her contented face. There is no philtre which beauty
can use, there is neither cosmetic nor rouge that can give that tender,
lovely glow with which successful love transforms even a plain face into
radiance and fascination.

"I wish, Beatrice, you would let me speak to your father," continued
Herbert; "I cannot bear to be here under false pretences. Why will you
not let me deal fairly and openly with your parents?"

"And be sent about your business by the evening train. No, thank you!
My dear boy, speaking to papa would be as much use as speaking to the
butler; they would both of them refer you instantly to mamma; and with
an equally lamentable result. Please leave things to me. When mamma has
offered me ineffectually to every marriageable man in Meadowshire, she
will get quite sick of it, and, I dare say, I shall be allowed to do as
I like then without any more fuss."

"And how long is this process to last?"

"About a year; by which time Geraldine will be nearly eighteen, and ready
to step into my shoes. Mamma will be glad enough to be rid of me then,
and to try her hand upon her instead. Geraldine is meek and tractable,
and will be quite wil