y, and thinks all women wish to
look at his fine shape, and hear him flatter them when he is in the
mood."

"You would not--let him enter?"

Clorinda threw her graceful body into a chair with more light laughter.

"I would not", she answered. "You cannot understand such ingratitude,
poor Anne; you would have treated him more softly. Sit down and talk to
me, and I will show thee my furbelows myself. All women like to chatter
of their laced bodices and petticoats. _That_ is what makes a woman."

Anne was tremulous with relief and pleasure. It was as if a queen had
bid her to be seated. She sat almost with the humble lack of case a
serving-woman might have shown. She had never seen Clorinda wear such an
air before, and never had she dreamed that she would so open herself to
any fellow-creature. She knew but little of what her sister was
capable--of the brilliancy of her charm when she chose to condescend, of
the deigning softness of her manner when she chose to please, of her arch-
pleasantries and cutting wit, and of the strange power she could wield
over any human being, gentle or simple, with whom she came in contact.
But if she had not known of these things before, she learned to know them
this morning. For some reason best known to herself, Mistress Clorinda
was in a high good humour. She kept Anne with her for more than an hour,
and was dazzling through every moment of its passing. She showed her the
splendours she was to shine in at the birth-night ball, even bringing
forth her jewels and displaying them. She told her stories of the house
of which the young heir to-day attained his majority, and mocked at the
poor youth because he was ungainly, and at a distance had been her slave
since his nineteenth year.

"I have scarce looked at him," she said. "He is a lout, with great eyes
staring, and a red nose. It does not need that one should look at men to
win them. They look at us, and that is enough."

To poor Mistress Anne, who had seen no company and listened to no wits,
the entertainment bestowed upon her was as wonderful as a night at the
playhouse would have been. To watch the vivid changing face; to hearken
to jesting stories of men and women who seemed like the heroes and
heroines of her romances; to hear love itself--the love she trembled and
palpitated at the mere thought of--spoken of openly as an experience
which fell to all; to hear it mocked at with dainty or biting quips; to
learn tha