"This Mrs. Clephane," she remarked with quiet derision, "wherein is she
different from the rest of us?"

"By 'us' you mean whom?" he asked.

"The women you have known."

"And seen?"

"And seen."

"You're exceedingly catholic!" he smiled.

"You're exceedingly exclusive--and precipitate; and you haven't answered
my question. Wherein is Mrs. Clephane different from the rest of us?"

"At the risk of being personal," he replied, "I should say that she is
very like you in face and figure and manner. If her hair were black, the
resemblance would be positively striking."

"Then, since we're on the personal equation, the difference is where?"

He threw up his hands and laughed to avoid the obvious answer, an
answer which she knew, and knew he wished to avoid.

"The difference is where?" she repeated.

"I shall let you judge if there is a difference, and if there is, what
it is," he replied.

"I wish to know _your_ mind, Mr. Harleston--I already know my own."

"Good girl!" he applauded.

"Please put me aside and consider Mrs. Clephane," she insisted. "Is she
cleverer than--well, than I am?"

"You are the cleverest woman that I have ever known."

"Is she more intellectual?"

"Preserve me from the intellectual woman!" he exclaimed.

"Is she more travelled?"

"I think not."

"Is she superficially more cultured?"

"I should say not."

"Has she a better disposition?"

"No one could have a better disposition than you have ever shown to me."

"Is she more fascinating in manner?"

"She couldn't be!"

"She _is_ younger?" tentatively.

Harleston did not reply.

"But very little--two or three years, maybe?" she added.

Again Harleston did not reply.

"Is her conversation more entertaining?" she resumed.

"Impossible!"

"Or more edifying?"

"Excuse me again!" he exclaimed. "Edifying is in the same class as
intellectual."

"Then all Mrs. Clephane has on me is a few years?"

He nodded.

"Other things don't count with you, I assume--when they're of the past,
and both have been a trifle tinctured."

She said it with affected carelessness and a ravishing smile; but
Harleston was aware that underneath there was bitterness of spirit, and
cold hate of the other woman. She had touched the pinch of the matter.
Both knew it, and both knew the answer. Yet she was hoping against hope;
and he was loath to hurt her needlessly, because Mrs. Clephane would be
sure to catch the recoil, and because he himsel