"You would always look sweet," said Jane, with frank sincerity; "and
why mind looking the age you are?"

"My dear, 'a man is as old as he feels; a woman is as old as she
looks,'" quoted Myra.

"I FEEL just seven," said Garth.

"And you LOOK seventeen," laughed Myra.

"And I AM twenty-seven," retorted Garth; "so the duchess should not
call me 'a ridiculous child.' And, dear lady, if curtailing this
mysterious process is going to make you one whit less lovely to-
night, I do beseech you to hasten to your maid, or you will spoil my
whole evening. I shall burst into tears at dinner, and the duchess
hates scenes, as you very well know!"

Lady Ingleby flapped him with her garden hat as she passed.

"Be quiet, you ridiculous child!" she said. "You had no business to
listen to what I was saying to Jane. You shall paint me this autumn.
And after that I will give up facial massage, and go abroad, and
come back quite old."

She flung this last threat over her shoulder as she trailed away
across the lawn.

"How lovely she is!" commented Garth, gazing after her. "How much of
that was true, do you suppose, Miss Champion?"