/*
_"'Aimer pour tre aimŽ, c'est de l'homme,
Aimer pour aimer, c'est Presque de l'ange.'"
*/

"I'm afraid I'm not that kind of an angel."

Hilda Ashhurst laughed.

"Olga is."

"Olga!" exclaimed Hermia with a glance of inquiry.

"Haven't you heard? She has thrown her young affections away upon that
owl-like nondescript who has been doing her portrait."

"I can't believe it."

"It's true," said the Countess calmly. "I am quite mad about him. He
has the mind of a philosopher, the soul of a child, the heart of a
woman--"

"--the manners of a boor and the impudence of the devil," added Hilda
spitefully.

Hermia laughed but the Countess Olga's narrowed eyes passed Hilda
scornfully.

"Any one can have good manners. They're the hallmark of mediocrity.
And as for impudence--that is the one sin a man may commit which a