not ignorant in his art. For he did not inform his sister that the
invitation to which she attached so flattering a national importance
owed its origin to an accidental encounter between himself and Lord
Orlay--a friend of his early senatorial days--in Pall Mall the day
before.

Miss Mangles stood with the card in her hand and reflected. No woman and
few men would need to be told, moreover, the subject of her thoughts.
Of what, indeed, does every woman think the moment she receives an
invitation?

"Jooly," Mr. Mangles had been heard to say behind that lady's
back--"Jooly is an impressive dresser when she tries."

But the truth is that Jooly did not always try. She had not tried this
morning, but stood in the conventional hotel room dressed in a black
cloth garment which had pleats down the front and back and a belt like a
Norfolk jacket. Miss Mangles was large and square-shouldered. She was a
rhomboid, in fact, and had that depressing square-and-flat waist which
so often figures on the platform in a great cause. Her hair was black
and shiny and straight; it was drawn back from her rounded temples by
hydraulic pressure. Her mouth was large and rather loose; it had grown
baggy by much speaking on public platforms--a fearsome thing in a woman.
Her face was large and round and white. Her eyes were dull. Long
ago there must have been depressing moments in the life of Julia P.
Mangles--moments spent in front of her mirror. But, like the woman
of spirit that she was, she had determined that, if she could not be
beautiful, she could at all events be great.

One self-deception leads to another. Miss Mangles sat down and accepted