d it was
one of those soft women with what men called 'charm' about them, and for
Mrs. Soames she always had an especial dislike.

Obscurely, no doubt, she felt that if charm were once admitted as
the criterion, smartness and capability must go to the wall; and she
hated--with a hatred the deeper that at times this so-called charm
seemed to disturb all calculations--the subtle seductiveness which she
could not altogether overlook in Irene.

She said, however, that she could see nothing in the woman--there was no
'go' about her--she would never be able to stand up for herself--anyone
could take advantage of her, that was plain--she could not see in fact
what men found to admire!

She was not really ill-natured, but, in maintaining her position after
the trying circumstances of her married life, she had found it so
necessary to be 'full of information,' that the idea of holding her
tongue about 'those two' in the Park never occurred to her.

And it so happened that she was dining that very evening at Timothy's,
where she went sometimes to 'cheer the old things up,' as she was wont
to put it. The same people were always asked to meet her: Winifred
Dartie and her husband; Francie, because she belonged to the artistic
circles, for Mrs. MacAnder was known to contribute articles on dress
to 'The Ladies Kingdom Come'; and for her to flirt with, provided they
could be obtained, two of the Hayman boys, who, though they never said
anything, were believed to be fast and thoroughly intimate with all that
was latest in smart Society.

At twenty-five minutes past seven she turned out the electric light
in her little hall, and wrapped in her opera cloak with the chinchilla
collar, came out into the corridor, pausing a moment to make sure she
had her latch-key. These little self-contained flats were convenient; to
be sure, she had no light and no air, but she could shut it up whenever
she liked and go away. There was no bother with servants, and she never
felt tied as she used to when poor, dear Fred was always about, in his
mooney way. She retained no rancour against poor, dear Fred, he was
such a fool; but the thought of that actress drew from her, even now, a
little, bitter, derisive smile.

Firmly snapping the door to, she crossed the corridor, with its gloomy,
yellow-ochre walls, and its infinite vista of brown, numbered doors.
The lift was going down; and wrapped to the ears in the high cloak, with
every one of her auburn h