her veil before a mirror.

Orsino watched her as she stood, her arms uplifted, in an attitude which
is almost always graceful, even for an otherwise ungraceful woman.
Madame d'Aragona was perhaps a little too short, but she was justly
proportioned and appeared to be rather slight, though the tight-fitting
sleeves of her frock betrayed a remarkably well turned arm. Not seeing
her face, one might not have singled her out of many as a very striking
woman, for she had neither the stateliness of Orsino's mother, nor the
enchanting grace which distinguished Gouache's wife. But no one could
look into her eyes without feeling that she was very far from being an
ordinary woman.

"Quite impossible," she repeated, as she tucked in the ends of her veil
and then turned upon the two men. "The next sitting? Whenever you
like--to-morrow--the day after--name the time."

"When to-morrow is possible, there is no choice," said Gouache, "unless
you will come again to-day."

"To-morrow, then, good-bye." She held out her hand.

"There are sketches on each of my fingers, Madame--principally, of
tigers."

"Good-bye then--consider your hand shaken. Are you going, Prince?"

Orsino had taken his hat and was standing beside her.

"You will allow me to put you into your carriage."