ry beauty is very convincing to the jaded
Londoner; but to convince, one must be convinced, and that is exactly
what Pauline is not. She never thinks whether she is beautiful or not,
and I am sure it often lies with the woman herself, how beautiful people
think her, except in the rare cases of real beauty, when there can
be but one opinion. But in the case of ordinary beauty, the woman is
appraised at her own value. Then there is the art of putting on clothes,
of which Pauline is absolutely ignorant. There is even a studied
untidiness which passes under the name of picturesque. All of this is
a closed book to Pauline, and, after all, she is a delightful creature;
but the trouble to me was that, at the time she came up to shop with me,
she didn't wear good boots, and to do that I hold is part, or should be
part, of a woman's creed. She gets her boots from the village shoemaker
because his wife died. Her eyes filled with tears at the mere thought of
the man, and she told me she thought it right to encourage local talent.
In the boots I saw evidences of locality,--bumps, for instance,--but not
of talent. Pauline was very indignant and said she had no bumps on her
feet. "But you see my position?" I did, but I persuaded her to have some
good boots made in London. This she consented to do, rather unwillingly
and on the distinct understanding that in the country she should
continue to encourage local talent. "On wet days," I ventured.

And at flower-shows, she added.

I have seen Pauline in the country, against a background of golden beech
trees and brown bracken, look even beautiful; but in London she lacks
something, possibly the right background. She has glorious hair, but her
maid can't do it. Pauline admits it, but she says she can't send a nice
woman away on that account; besides, she suffers from rheumatism, and
Pauline's particular part of the country suits her better than any
other.

"Couldn't she learn?" I suggested.

"No, she can't," said Pauline. "She had lessons once, and she came back
and did my hair like treacle, all over my head,--no idea, absolutely. I
should never look like you, whatever I did."

"My dear Pauline," I said, "what nonsense!"

"It's not nonsense. Father was saying only the other day that you are a
beautiful creature, only no one seems to see it."

"Dear Uncle Jim," I said; "how delightful, and how like him!"

"But it's true you are beautiful; only the part about the people
not seeing it