had her own views of Miss Rose, was not slow in calling attention.

"What has happened to poor Jane?" she said, addressing Mary. "She looks
as though she had been red-ochred down to her shoulders."

"Who is poor Jane?" asked that young lady languidly. "Oh! you mean Miss
Rose. I know, she has been playing in that tennis tournament at--what's
the name of the place? Dad would drive me there this afternoon, and it
made me quite hot to look at her, jumping and running and hitting for
hour after hour. But she's awfully good at it; she won the prize.
Don't you envy anybody who can win a prize at a tennis tournament, Miss
Layard?"

"No," she answered sharply, for Miss Layard did not shine at Tennis. "I
dislike women who go about what my brother calls 'pot-hunting' just as
if they were professionals."

"Oh, do you? I admire them. It must be so nice to be able to do anything
well, even if it's only lawn tennis. It's the poor failures like myself
for whom I am so sorry."

"I don't admire anybody who can come to out to a dinner party with a
head and neck like that," retorted Eliza.

"Why not? You can't burn, and that should make you more charitable. And
I tie myself up in veils and umbrellas, which is absurd. Besides, what
does it matter? You see, it is different with most of us; Miss Rose is
so good-looking that she can afford herself these little luxuries."

"That is a matter of opinion," replied Miss Layard.