rvers. The gentlemen
flock round her; she is flattered, flirted with----"

"Yes, flirted with, I grant you; but not respected, I'm sure,"
interrupted the elderly spinster. "It is chiefly done to draw out
her smart repartees, and the unladylike answers which have made her
so famous (or rather infamous)."

"In fact everybody is amused at her scathing replies."

"Which the ladies are afraid of," said a gentleman, half jestingly,
half reproachfully, "for as a rule they are as true as they are sharp."

"As a rule she makes the gentlemen the butt of her raillery."

"How strange then, indeed, that the ladies take her part so little!" I
could not help remarking.

"That is not strange, Jonker! The peculiar manner she has adopted to
render herself noticeable is just the one our sex cannot suffer. In
all her victories we saw a defeat; the good tone was lost."

"And how did the party pass off for Miss Mordaunt in that curious
dress?" I inquired, for I had less interest in carrying on a combat
d'esprit with the vicious little widow than in drawing out a more
complete sketch of Francis' character, though it might be coloured
by slander.

"Just as she wished it, I believe. In the early part of the evening
she was somewhat neglected, and this was evidently her wish, for she
did nothing to prevent it; on the contrary, she had told the hostess
that she had resolved not to dance, in such a loud and decided tone,
that it would have been absurd for any one to invite her afterwards."

"She's cunning enough," put in the elderly spinster. "She only said
that lest afterwards she should feel ashamed of herself at the close
of the party, in case no one invited her to dance."

"In fact, it requires more moral courage than the gentlemen in these
parts as a rule possess to lead out a lady dressed as she was,"
interposed the widow again.

"It appears that the custom of not sparing us gentlemen is catching,"
whispered an officer, who had been introduced as Captain Sanders.

I silently bowed, for I wished to listen to Mrs. X., who continued--

"Finally, however, when the cotillon was called, she must join, and the
unfortunate leader of the dance had to sacrifice himself. Lieutenant
Wilibald, her grandfather's adjutant, was obliged to take her in tow,
mustering up all his courage. After showing a good deal of resistance,
which appeared seriously meant, she allowed herself to be led out,
but did nothing to lighten her partner's unpleasant