smile as Albert spoke to her, and the look of manly protection in his
eyes, as his gaze met Edith's.

As for Mae, she had that delicious feminine pride which is as good
a stimulant as success to women--in emergencies. And to-night was an
emergency to this small, excitable, young thing. Her eyes were very dark
from the expansion of the pupil. They possessed a rare charm, caught
from a trick the eyelids had of drooping slowly and then suddenly
and unexpectedly lifting to reveal the wide, bright depths, that
half-concealed, half-revealed power, which is so tantalizing. Mae was
dressed in this same spirit to-night, and she was dimly conscious of it.
The masses of tulle that floated from her opera hat to her chin and down
on her shoulders, revealed only here and there a glimpse of rich brown
hair, or of white throat. Her cheeks were scarlet, her lips a-quiver
with excitement and pleasure. She formed a pretty contrast to Edith,
who sat by her side. Miss Jerrold leaned back in her chair quietly,
composedly. She fanned herself in long sweeps, looked pleased,
contented, but in no wise displaced or surprised--thoroughly well-bred
and at home. She might have had a private rehearsal of Othello in her
own dramatic hall the evening before, from her air and mien. Mae, on the
contrary, was alert, on the qui vive, as interested as a child in each
newcomer, and, after the curtain rose, in every tableau.

Such a woman can not fail to attract attention, as long as she is
herself unconscious. The world grows blase so speedily that it enjoys
all the more thoroughly the sight of freshness, verve, life,--that is,
the male portion of the world. Women's great desire, as a rule, is
to appear entirely at ease, city-bred, high-bred, used to all things,
surprised by none.