in rich darkness, with occasional revelations of flower and leaf, the
fairly poetical pattern of real lace. As she rose, she diffused
around her a perfume as if rose-leaves were stirred up. She held a
dainty handkerchief, edged with real lace, in her little left hand,
which glittered with rings. In her right, was a spangled fan like a
black butterfly. Mrs. Edes was past her first youth, but she was
undeniably charming. She was like a little, perfect, ivory toy, which
time has played with but has not injured. Mrs. Slade looked at her,
then at Karl von Rosen. He looked at Mrs. Wilbur Edes, then looked
away. She was most graceful, but most positively uninteresting.
However, Mrs. Slade was rather pleased at that. She and Mrs. Edes
were rival stars. Von Rosen had never looked long at her, and it
seemed right he should not look long at the other woman.

Mrs. Slade surveyed Mrs. Edes as she announced the next number on the
programme, and told herself that Mrs. Edes' gown might be real lace
and everything about her very real, and nice, and elegant, but she
was certainly a little fussy for so small a woman. Mrs. Slade
considered that she herself could have carried off that elegance in a
much more queenly manner. There was one feature of Mrs. Edes' costume
which Mrs. Slade resented. She considered that it should be worn by a
woman of her own size and impressiveness. That was a little wrap of
ermine. Now ermine, as everybody knew, should only be worn by large
and queenly women. Mrs. Slade resolved that she herself would have an
ermine wrap which should completely outshine Mrs. Edes' little
affair, all swinging with tails and radiant with tiny, bright-eyed
heads.

Mrs. Edes announced a duet by Miss MacDonald and Mrs. Wells, and sat
down, and again the perfume of rose leaves was perceptible. Karl von