that she was not unpleasing; her features had a symmetry and a
mobility, and her eyes could take any transient charm they chose to
endow themselves with; though there were moments when she compared
very badly with the other young ladies of Simla with their high
spirits and their pretty complexions, very badly indeed. Those were
occasions when the gay monotony of the place pressed, I imagine, a
little heavily upon her, and the dullness she felt translated itself
in her expression. But she was by no means unpleasing.

'I must go and see Lady Pilkey's picture,' I said.

'What is the use?' said Dora. 'It's a landscape in oils--a view of
the Himalayas, near Narkanda. There are the snows in the
background, very thin and visionary through a gap in the trees, and
two hills, one hill on each side. Dark green trees, pine-trees,
with a dead one in the left foreground covered with a brilliant red
creeper. Right foreground occupied by a mountain path and a
solitary native figure with its back turned. Society's silver
medal'

'When did you see it?' I asked.

'I haven't seen it--this year. But I saw the one she sent last, and
the one the year before that. You can trust my memory, really.'

'No,' I said, 'I can't. I'm dining there tonight. I must have an
original impression.'

'Congratulate her on the warm blaze of colour in the foreground.
It's perfectly safe,' urged Miss Harris, but I felt compelled to go