and beauty as this--with that enchanting, ever-ready laugh and smile!
Why, of course, those eyes, so lashless then, so thickly fringed
to-day!--how could I have mistaken them? Ah, Mimsey, you never smiled or
laughed in those days, or I should have known your eyes again! Is it
possible--is it possible?"

Thus I went on to myself till the ladies left, my fair young companion
expressing her kind anxiety and polite hope that I would soon be
myself again.

I sat silent till it was time to join the ladies (I could not even
follow the witty and brilliant anecdotes of the great painter, who held
the table); and then I went up to my room. I could not face _her_ again
so soon after what I had heard.

The good Lord Cray came to make kind inquiries, but I soon satisfied him
that my indisposition was nothing. He stayed on, however, and talked;
his dinner seemed to have done him a great deal of good, and he wanted
to smoke (and somebody to smoke with), which he had not been able to do
in the dining-room on account of some reverend old bishop who was
present. So he rolled himself a little cigarette, like a Frenchman, and
puffed away to his heart's content.

He little guessed how his humble architect wished him away, until he
began to talk of the Duchess of Towers--"Mary Towers," as he called
her--and to tell me how "Towers" deserved to be kicked, and whipped at
the cart's tail. "Why, she's the best and most beautiful woman in
England, and as sharp as a needle! If it hadn't been for her, he'd have
been in the bankruptcy court long ago," etc. "There's not a duchess in
England that's fit to hold the candle to her, either for looks or