"I am tired to death, though, Phoebe," she said, by-and-by. "I am afraid
I must look a perfect fright, after a day in the hot sun."

There were lighted candles on each side of the glass before which Lady
Audley was standing unfastening her dress. She looked full at her maid
as she spoke, her blue eyes clear and bright, and the rosy childish lips
puckered into an arch smile.

"You are a little pale, my lady," answered the girl, "but you look as
pretty as ever."

"That's right, Phoebe," she said, flinging herself into a chair, and
throwing back her curls at the maid, who stood, brush in hand, ready to
arrange the luxuriant hair for the night. "Do you know, Phoebe, I have
heard some people say that you and I are alike?"

"I have heard them say so, too, my lady," said the girl, quietly "but
they must be very stupid to say it, for your ladyship is a beauty, and I
am a poor, plain creature."

"Not at all, Phoebe," said the little lady, superbly; "you _are_ like
me, and your features are very nice; it is only color that you want. My
hair is pale yellow shot with gold, and yours is drab; my eyebrows and
eyelashes are dark brown, and yours are almost--I scarcely like to say
it, but they're almost white, my dear Phoebe. Your complexion is sallow,
and mine is pink and rosy. Why, with a bottle of hair-dye, such as we
see advertised in the papers, and a pot of rouge, you'd be as
good-looking as I, any day, Phoebe."