ad a sense of empty benches. Mrs. Vulcany once remarked that
Miss Harleth was too fond of the gentlemen; but we know that she was
not in the least fond of them--she was only fond of their homage--and
women did not give her homage. The exception to this willing aloofness
from her was Miss Arrowpoint, who often managed unostentatiously to be
by her side, and talked to her with quiet friendliness.

"She knows, as I do, that our friends are ready to quarrel over a
husband for us," thought Gwendolen, "and she is determined not to enter
into the quarrel."

"I think Miss Arrowpoint has the best manners I ever saw," said Mrs.
Davilow, when she and Gwendolen were in a dressing-room with Mrs.
Gascoigne and Anna, but at a distance where they could have their talk
apart.

"I wish I were like her," said Gwendolen.

"Why? Are you getting discontented with yourself, Gwen?"

"No; but I am discontented with things. She seems contented."

"I am sure you ought to be satisfied to-day. You must have enjoyed the
shooting. I saw you did."

"Oh, that is over now, and I don't know what will come next," said
Gwendolen, stretching herself with a sort of moan and throwing up her
arms. They were bare now; it was the fashion to dance in the archery
dress, throwing off the jacket; and the simplicity of her white
cashmere with its border of pale green set off her form to the utmost.
A thin line of gold round her neck, and the gold star on her breast,
were her only ornaments. Her smooth soft hair piled up into a grand
crown made a clear line about her brow. Sir Joshua would have been glad
to take her portrait; and he would have had an easier task than the
historian at least in this, that he would not have had to represent the
truth of change--only to give stability to one beautiful moment.

"The dancing will come next," said Mrs. Davilow "You are sure to enjoy
that."

"I shall only dance in the quadrille. I told Mr. Clintock so. I shall
not waltz or polk with any one."

"Why in the world do you say that all on a sudden?"

"I can't bear having ugly people so near me."

"Whom do you mean by ugly people?"

"Oh, plenty."

"Mr. Clintock, for example, is not ugly." Mrs. Davilow dared not
mention Grandcourt.

"Well, I hate woolen cloth touching me."

"Fancy!" said Mrs. Davilow to her sister who now came up from the other
end of the room. "Gwendolen says she will not waltz or polk."

"She is rather given to whims, I think," said Mrs. Gasc