ere of the same indefinite tint--not white, whatever they might be
called. Her throat was slender and beautifully-formed, but shared the
same deficiency of colour. It is impossible to say how much disappointed
Lucy was in the young stranger's appearance after the first evening. She
had thought her very pretty, and she now thought her plain. To remember
what the girl had said of her chances if she turned out beautiful filled
her with a sort of pitying contempt.

But the more experienced people were not of Lucy's opinion. They thought
well, on the contrary, of Bice's prospects. Lady Randolph, as has been
said, regarded her with a certain respectfulness. She was not offended
by the saucy speeches which the girl might now and then make. She went
so far as to say even that if introduced under other auspices than those
of the Contessa, there was no telling what such a girl might do. "But
the chances now are that she will end on the stage," Lady Randolph said.

This strange girl unfolded herself very little in the family. When she
spoke, she spoke with the utmost frankness, and was afraid of nobody.
But in general she sat in the regions behind the table, with its big
lamp, and said little or nothing. The others would all be collected
about the fire, but Bice never approached the fire. Sometimes she read,
sitting motionless, till the others forgot her presence altogether.
Sometimes she worked at long strips of Berlin-wool work, the
_tapisserie_ to which, by moments, the Contessa would have recourse. But
she heard and saw everything, as has been said, whether she attended or
not, in the keenness of her youthful faculties. When the Contessa rose
to sing, she was at the piano without a word; and when anything was
wanted she gave an alert mute obedience to the lady who was her relation
or her patroness, nobody knew which, almost without being told what was
wanted. Except in this way, however, they seldom approached or said a
word to each other that any one saw. During the long morning, which the
Contessa spent in her room, appearing only at luncheon, Bice too was
invisible. Thus she lived the strangest life of retirement and
seclusion, such as a crushed dependent would find intolerable in the
midst of a family, but without the least appearance of anything but
enjoyment, and a perfect and dauntless freedom.

Bice, however, had one confidant in the house, and this, as is natural,
was the very last person who would have seemed probab