lored. There were many men
who, seeing Helen Lorrington for the first time, thought her exquisitely
beautiful; there were others who, seeing her for the first time, thought
her singularly ugly. The _second_ time, there was never a question. Her
grandfather called her an albino; but he was nearly blind, and could
only see the color of her hair. He could not see the strong brown light
of her eyes, or the soft ivory complexion, which never changed in the
wind, the heat, or the cold.

Mrs. Lorrington was always dressed richly, but after a fashion of her
own. Instead of disguising the slenderness of her form, she intensified
it; instead of contrasting hues, she often wore amber tints like her
hair. Amid all her silks, jewels, and laces, there was always supreme
her own personality, which reduced her costumes to what, after all,
costumes should be, merely the subordinate coverings of a beautiful
woman.

Helen had a clear, flute-like voice, with few low notes, and a
remarkably high range. She continued her lessons with Belzini whenever
she was in the city, more in order that he might transpose her songs for
her than for any instruction he could now bestow. She was an old pupil
of his, and the sentimental Italian adored her; this adoration, however,
did not prevent him from being very comfortable at home with his portly
wife. One morning Helen, coming in for a moment to leave a new song,
found Anne at the piano taking her lesson. Belzini, always anxious to
please his fair-haired divinity, motioned to her to stay and listen.
Anne's rich voice pleased her ears; but she had heard rich voices
before. What held her attention now was the girl herself. For although
Helen was a marvel of self-belief, although she made her own peculiar
beauty an object of worship, and was so saturated with knowledge of
herself that she could not take an attitude which did not become her,
she yet possessed a comprehension of other types of beauty, and had, if
not an admiration for, at least a curiosity about, them. In Anne she
recognized at once what Tante had also recognized--unfolding beauty of
an unfamiliar type, the curves of a nobly shaped form hidden under an
ugly gown, above the round white throat a beautiful head, and a
singularly young face shadowed by a thoughtfulness which was very grave
and impersonal when compared with the usual light, self-centred
expressions of young girls' faces. At once Helen's artistic eye had Anne
before her, robed i