reputation whose owner has so little care for it herself."

Mr. Caryll looked at her out of his level gray-green eyes; a hot answer
quivered on his tongue, an answer that had crushed her venom for some
time and had probably left him with a quarrel on his hands. Yet his
smile, as he considered her, was very sweet, so sweet that her ladyship,
guessing nothing of the bitterness it was used to cover, went as near a
smirk as it was possible for one so elegant. He was, she judged, another
victim ripe for immolation on the altar of her goddessship. And Mr.
Caryll, who had taken her measure very thoroughly, seeing something of
how her thoughts were running, bethought him of a sweeter vengeance.

"Lady Mary," he cried, a soft reproach in his voice, "I have been sore
mistook in you if you are one to be guided by the rabble." And he waved
a hand toward the modish throng.

She knit her fine brows, bewildered.

"Ah!" he cried, interpreting her glance to suit his ends, "perish the
thought, indeed! I knew that I could not be wrong. I knew that one so
peerless in all else must be peerless, too, in her opinions; judging
for herself, and standing firm upon her judgment in disdain of meaner
souls--mere sheep to follow their bell-wether."

She opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing, being too intrigued
by this sudden and most sweet flattery. Her mere beauty had oft been
praised, and in terms that glowed like fire. But what was that compared
with this fine appreciation of her less obvious mental parts--and that
from one who had seen the world?

Mr. Caryll was bending over her. "What a chance is here," he was
murmuring, "to mark your lofty detachment--to show how utter is your
indifference to what the common herd may think."

"As--as how?" she asked, blinking up at him.

The others stood at gaze, scarce yet suspecting the drift of so much
talk.

"There is a poor lady yonder, of whose fair name a bubble is being blown
and pricked. I dare swear there's not a woman here durst speak to her.
Yet what a chance for one that dared! How fine a triumph would be hers!"
He sighed. "Heigho! I almost wish I were a woman, that I might make that
triumph mine and mark my superiority to these painted dolls that have
neither wit nor courage."

The Lady Mary rose, a faint color in her cheeks, a sparkle in her fine
eyes. A great joy flashed into Mr. Caryll's in quick response; a joy in
her--she thought with ready vanity--and a heightening admirat