-if you've finished."

"Yes, I've quite finished. But I'm going to say something first."

"What?"

"Don't let your imagination run riot with you; and if I can do
anything for you--there's nothing to be done, I mean--but if I can,
you let me know. Will you?"

She nodded her head vaguely. It meant nothing to her; but she nodded
her head.

CHAPTER VIII

Mrs. Durlacher had asked one of her guests to come early.

"Come at seven," she had said; "before if you can." And Miss
Standish-Roe had arrived at a quarter to the hour.

When she entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Durlacher kissed her
affectionately, then held her at arm's length, her hands on her
shoulders and gazed pensively into her eyes.

"Why do you look at me like that?" Coralie asked.

Mrs. Durlacher shrugged her shoulders and turned away to her chair.

"For no reason at all, my dear child, and for a million reasons. I
wish I was as pretty as you are."

"What nonsense!"

"Yes, isn't it? But if I had that red hair of yours, and those eyes,
I'd be happy for the rest of my life. You can't grow old with that
hair as long as you keep thin. Do you mind my telling you something?"

"No, not a bit; what?"

"You've got a little too much on that cheek, and your lips as well;
do you mind?"

"Heavens! No! Was that one of the million reasons?" She crossed the
room to a well-lighted mirror and, by the aid of its reflection,
rubbed her cheeks and lips with a handkerchief taken from the front
of her dress. "Was that why you stared at me?" she asked, turning
round, looking at Mrs. Durlacher, then at that part of the
handkerchief that her lips had touched.

"One of the reasons? Oh no. I only noticed it. That's all right now.
I believe you look better without it."

"Well, I felt so fagged this evening."

"I know; that's wretched. If you were a man, you'd drink; being a
woman, you make up. It's much more respectable really. By the way,
you don't see anything of Devenish now, do you?"

"No, nothing. We saw him that day at Prince's--I hadn't seen him for
two or three months before that--I haven't seen him since. I don't
think you can ever rely on a married man. Don't you know that line
of Kipling's?"

"Which?"

"In 'Barrack Room Ballads'--'Fuzzy Wuzzy,' I think."

"Nothing about a married man, surely?"

"No; but it fits him."

"''E's all 'ot sand and ginger when alive,
An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.'"

Mrs. Durlacher broke into