gures with something of doubt and wonder on her placid features. But
whatever her thoughts, they were not made manifest just then. Arriving
at a door draped richly with old-gold plush and satin, she knocked.

"Come in!" cried a voice that, though sweet in tone, was also somewhat
petulant.

Mrs. Marvelle at once entered, and the occupant of the room sprang up in
haste from her luxurious reading-chair, where she was having her long
tresses brushed out by a prim-looking maid, and uttered an exclamation
of delight.

"My dearest Mimsey!" she cried, "this is quite too sweet of you! You're
just the very person I wanted to see!" And she drew an easy fauteuil to
the sparkling fire,--for the weather was cold, with that particularly
cruel coldness common to an English May,--and dismissed her attendant.
"Now sit down, you dear old darling," she continued, "and let me have
all the news!"

Throwing herself back on her lounge, she laughed, and tossed her waving
hair loose over her shoulders, as the maid had left it,--then she
arranged, with a coquettish touch here and there, the folds of her pale
pink dressing-gown, showered with delicate Valenciennes. She was
undeniably a lovely woman. Tall and elegantly formed, with an almost
regal grace of manner, Clara, Lady Winsleigh, deserved to be considered,
as she was, one of the reigning beauties of the day. Her full dark eyes
were of a bewitching and dangerous softness,--her complexion was pale,
but of such a creamy, transparent pallor as to be almost brilliant,--her
mouth was small and exquisitely shaped. True,--her long eyelashes were
not altogether innocent of "kohl,"--true, there was a faint odor about
her as of rare perfumes and cosmetics,--true, there was something not
altogether sincere or natural even in her ravishing smile and
fascinating ways--but few, save cynics, could reasonably dispute her
physical perfections, or question the right she had to tempt and arouse
the passions of men, or to trample underfoot? with an air of insolent
superiority, the feelings of women less fair and fortunate. Most of her
sex envied her,--but Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, who was past the prime of life,
and, who, moreover, gained her social successes through intelligence and
tact alone, was far too sensible to grudge any woman her beauty. On the
contrary, she was a frank admirer of handsome persons, and she surveyed
Lady Winsleigh now through her glasses with a smile of bland approval.

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