so much before you were famous: what will be his admiration
now! men are so vain--they care for us so much more when people praise
us. But till we have put the creatures in their proper place, we must
take them for what they are."

Here the Venosta, with whom the poor Colonel had exhausted all the arts
at his command for chaining her attention, could be no longer withheld
from approaching Mrs. Morley, and venting her admiration of that lady's
wreath, earrings, robes, flounces. This dazzling apparition had on her
the effect which a candle has on a moth--she fluttered round it,
and longed to absorb herself in its blaze. But the wreath especially
fascinated her--a wreath which no prudent lady with colourings less
pure, and features less exquisitely delicate than the pretty champion
of the rights of women, could have fancied on her own brows without a
shudder. But the Venosta in such matters was not prudent. "It can't be
dear," she cried piteously, extending her arms towards Isaura. "I must
have one exactly like. Who made it? Cara signora, give me the address."

"Ask the Colonel, dear Madame; he chose and bought it," and Mrs. Morley
glanced significantly at her well-tutored Frank.

"Madame," said the Colonel, speaking in English, which he usually did
with the Venosta--who valued herself on knowing that language and was
flattered to be addressed in it--while he amused himself by introducing
into its forms the dainty Americanisms with which he puzzled the
Britisher--he might well puzzle the Florentine,--"Madame, I am too
anxious for the appearance of my wife to submit to the test of a rival
schemer like yourself in the same apparel. With all the homage due to a
sex of which I am enthused dreadful, I decline to designate the florist
from whom I purchased Mrs. Morley's head-fixings."

"Wicked man!" cried the Venosta, shaking her finger at him coquettishly.
"You are jealous! Fie! a man should never be jealous of a woman's
rivalry with women;" and then, with a cynicism that might have become
a greybeard, she added, "but of his own sex every man should be
jealous--though of his dearest friend. Isn't it so, Colonello?"

The Colonel looked puzzled, bowed, and made no reply. "That only shows,"
said Mrs. Morley, rising, "what villains the Colonel has the misfortune
to call friends and fellow-men."

"I fear it is time to go," said Frank, glancing at the clock.

In theory the most rebellious, in practice the most obedient, of wiv