ame. He has dark eyes that stare
somehow and seem to put you down, and he has a way of laughing at you
civilly that makes you wild; and Ursula believes in him, and is quite
meek in his presence, just because he is a doctor and orders her about.'

'My dear Lesbia, I hope you are taking Jill's measure with a grain of
salt. Mr. Hamilton is not disagreeable, and he never orders me about.'

Jill shook her head at me, and went on:

'Then there is the double-faced lady--but never mind her; we both hate
her.'

'You mean Miss Darrell, Mr. Hamilton's cousin?'

'Yes, Witch Etta, as Lady Betty calls her. She is a dark-eyed, slim piece
of elegance, utterly dependent on her clothes for beauty; she dresses
perfectly, and makes herself out a good-looking woman, but she is not
really good-looking; and she is always talking, and her talk is exciting,
because there is always something behind her words, something mildly
suggestive of volcanoes, or something equally pleasant and enlivening.
If she smiles, for instance, one seems to think one must find out the
meaning of that.'

'Who has taught you all this, Jill?' asked Lesbia, bewildered by this
sarcasm.

'My mother-wit,' returned Jill, utterly unabashed. 'Well, then there is
Gladys. Ah, now we are coming to the saddest part. Once upon a time there
was a beautiful maiden, really a lovely creature,--oh, I grant you that,
Ursula,--but she fell under the power of some wicked magician, male or
female,--some folks say Witch Etta,--who changed her into a snow-maiden
or an ice-maiden. If she were only alive, this Gladys would be most
lovely and bewitching; but, you see, she is only a poor snow-maiden, very
white and cold. If she gives you her hand, it quite freezes you; her kiss
turns you to ice too; her smile is congealing. Ursula tries to thaw her
sometimes, but it does no good. She is only Gladys, the snow-maiden.'

I was too angry with Jill to say a word. Lesbia looked more mystified
than ever.

'If she be so cold and sad, how can Ursula be so fond of her?' she
demanded, in her practical way. But Jill took no notice, but rattled on:

'Little brown Betsy--I beg her pardon--Lady Betty, is the best of all:
she is really human. Gladys is only half alive. Lady Betty laughs and
talks and pouts; she wrinkles up like an old woman when she is cross, and
has lovely dimples when she smiles. She is not pretty, but she is quaint,
and interesting, and childlike. I am very fond of Lady Betty,' fi