otch extraction yourself, and you
ought to be ashamed to talk in that way. I wish you good-morning!"

"I wish you a better temper!"

A minute since the two young ladies had been like twin roses on one
stalk. Now they parted with red cheeks and hostile sentiments and
cutting words. How ardent is the warmth of youth! how unspeakably
delicate the fragility of female friendship!

The flock of visitors followed Mrs. Delamayn to the shores of the lake.
For a few minutes after the terrace was left a solitude. Then there
appeared under the porch a single gentleman, lounging out with a flower
in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. This was the strongest man at
Swanhaven--otherwise, Geoffrey Delamayn.

After a moment a lady appeared behind him, walking softly, so as not to
be heard. She was superbly dressed after the newest and the most
costly Parisian design. The brooch on her bosom was a single diamond of
resplendent water and great size. The fan in her hand was a master-piece
of the finest Indian workmanship. She looked what she was, a person
possessed of plenty of superfluous money, but not additionally blest
with plenty of superfluous intelligence to correspond. This was the
childless young widow of the great ironmaster--otherwise, Mrs. Glenarm.

The rich woman tapped the strong man coquettishly on the shoulder with
her fan. "Ah! you bad boy!" she said, with a slightly-labored archness
of look and manner. "Have I found you at last?"

Geoffrey sauntered on to the terrace--keeping the lady behind him with
a thoroughly savage superiority to all civilized submission to the
sex--and looked at his watch.

"I said I'd come here when I'd got half an hour to myself," he mumbled,
turning the flower carelessly between his teeth. "I've got half an hour,
and here I am."

"Did you come for the sake of seeing the visitors, or did you come for
the sake of seeing Me?"

Geoffrey smiled graciously, and gave the flower another turn in his
teeth. "You. Of course."

The iron-master's widow took his arm, and looked up at him--as only a
young woman would have dared to look up--with the searching summer light
streaming in its full brilliancy on her face.

Reduced to the plain expression of what it is really worth, the average
English idea of beauty in women may be summed up in three words--youth,
health, plumpness. The more spiritual charm of intelligence and
vivacity, the subtler attraction of delicacy of line and fitness of
detai