lighting the splendid masses of her red hair, and the disdainful
gleam that dwells in her handsome eyes.

"Of course not," says Lady Rylton, a little stiffly; "even to
_mention_ such a thing seems to be--er--a little----"

"_Only_ a little?" says Mrs. Bethune, arching her brows. "Oh,
Tessie!" She pauses, and then with an eloquent gesture goes on
again. "After all, why shouldn't I be immoral?" says she. Once again
she flings her arms above her head so that her fingers grow clasped
behind it. "It pays! It certainly pays. It is only the goody-goodies
who go to the wall."

"My _dear_ Marian!" says Lady Rylton, with a delicate pretence at
horror; she puts up her hands, but after a second or so bursts out
laughing. "I always say you are the one creature who amuses me,"
cries she, leaning back, and giving full play to her mirth. "I never
get _at_ you, somehow. I am never _quite_ sure whether you are very
good or very--well, very much the other thing. That is your charm."

The stupid, pretty little woman has reached a truth in spite of
herself--that _is_ Mrs. Bethune's charm.

A quick change passes over the latter's face. There is extreme
hatred in it. It is gone, however, as soon as born, and remains for
ever a secret to her companion.

"Does that amuse you?" says she airily. "I dare say a perpetual
riddle _is_ interesting. One can never guess it."