ch--painter, sculptress, musician, author; a beauty into the
bargain, and lady-in-waiting for many years to a queen.

She was no longer in the freshness of youth; her beauty had been left a
little bony, a little fatigued and bloodless; her eyelids drooped over
the brilliant intelligence of her eyes. The poetry of her looks was
increased by her costume. In wise disdain of the fashion, she went robed
rather than dressed; her things clung and trailed and undulated; they
were gray as cobwebs, dim as pressed orchids. She was as fascinating as
at any time in her life--perhaps more so, because she cared to be.

Antonia, who had made her acquaintance at Aix-les-bains, was under her
spell. The reception was given to honor her, rather than to enable
Antonia, as Gerald had at first supposed, to see her friends again after
several years of absence and neglect.

A niece of Antonia's received, and invited guests to be refreshed with
tea, while Antonia and the Princess sat side by side, and now talked
together, now with others, who of themselves approached, or whom Antonia
invited to join them. The conversation was part of the time in French,
which Antonia spoke fluently, but for the greater part in English, which
the princess spoke well, as Russians speak every language.

Gerald was watching for the favorable moment to present Aurora; they
therefore stood within earshot. While he talked to keep her diverted, he
was aware that his companion less than half listened to him, absorbed in
Antonia and the princess.

A princess and a famous writer! Aurora had never set eyes on a princess
before, nor, to her knowledge, on an author. They hypnotized her, those
two. Their conversation was far beyond Leslie's, she did not understand
any of it, though every syllable reached her ear. The marked Englishness
of Antonia's speech caused an almost necessity in Aurora to say the
words after her, echoing their peculiarity. Her lips unconsciously
moved.

Aurora's eyes were busy as well as her ears. Antonia was clad in a
tea-gown--Aurora thought it was a wrapper. The tea-gown had long lain in
a chest, while Antonia was on her travels, and the great woman's eyes,
fixed on more important things, had not perceived when it was taken out
for her wear to-day that it was crushed and rumpled. Aurora believed it
had been recovered from the ash-can, and her breast was filled with awe.
It was with unqualified and childlike admiration that she gazed at the
two w