y fine jet brows that
Mr. Palma had found so distinctive in Regina's face, and his glossy
hair and beard possessed that purplish black tint so rarely combined
with the transparent white complexion, which now gleamed
conspicuously in his broad, full, untanned forehead.

The indolent _insouciance_ of his bearing was quite in accord with
his social record, as a proud high-born man of cultivated elegant
tastes, and unmistakably dissipated tendencies, which doubtless would
long ago have fructified in thoroughly demoralized habits had not his
wife vigorously exerted her exigeant guardianship.

"Have you heard the last joke at Count T----'s expense?" said Mrs.
Laurance, tapping the arm of the minister with her gilded fan.

"Do you refer to the _contretemps_ of the masks at the Grand Ball?"

"No, something connected with Madame Orme. It seems the Count saw her
in London, became infatuated, as men always are about pretty
actresses, and the first night she played here he was almost frantic;
wrote a note between the acts, and sent it to her twisted in that
costly antique scarf-ring he is so fond of telling people once
belonged to the Duke of Orleans. Before the play ended it was
returned, with the note torn into several strips and bound around it.
Fancy his chagrin! Colonel Thorpe was in the box with him, and told
it next day, when we met at dinner. When I asked T---- his opinion of
Madame, he answered:

"She is perfectly divine! But alas! only an inspired icicle. She
should be called '_Sulitelma_,' which I believe means--Cuthbert, what
did you tell me it meant?"

"Queen of Snows. Abbie, do lower your voice a trifle." He answered
without even glancing at her, and she continued:

"I wanted to see her last night in 'Medea,' but Cuthbert had an opera
engagement, and beside, little Maud had the croup----"

A storm of applause cut short the nursery budget, and all turned to
the stage where Amy Robsart entered, followed by Janet and by Varney.
Advancing with queenly grace and dignity to a pile of cushions in the
centre of the drawing-room at Cumnor Place, she stood a moment with
downcast eyes, till the acclamation ceased, and Varney renewed his
appeal.

Her satin dress was of that exquisite tint which in felicitous French
phraseology is termed _de couleur de fleur de pecher_, and swept down
from her slender figure in statuesque folds that ended in a long
court train, particularly becoming in the pose she had selected. The
El