"

"What do you mean by that?" growing pale with anger, even through that
delicate _soupcon_ of color that of late she has been compelled to
use to conceal her pallor. "Do you mean to insinuate that _I_
paint?"

"I certainly thought you did," still innocent, still full of wonder:
"you said----"

"I would advise you for the future to restrain such thoughts:
experience will teach you they show want of breeding. In the meantime,
I beg you to understand that I do _not_ paint."

"Oh, Marcia!"

"You are either extremely impertinent or excessively ignorant, or
both!" says Marcia, rising to her full height, and turning flashing
eyes upon her cousin, who is regarding her with the liveliest reproach.
"I insist on knowing what you mean by your remarks."

"Why, have you forgotten all about those charming water-color sketches
in the small gallery up-stairs?" exclaims Molly, with an airy
irrepressible laugh. "There, don't be angry: I was only jesting; no one
would for a moment suspect you of such a disreputable habit."

"Pray reserve your jests for those who may appreciate them," says Miss
Amherst, in a low angry tone: "I do not. They are as vulgar as they are
ill-timed."

"But I took a good rise out of her all the same," says Molly to
herself, as she slips from the room full of malicious laughter.

Before dinner--not sooner--Lady Stafford makes her appearance, and
quite dazzles Molly with her beauty and the sweetness of her manner.
She seems in the gayest spirits, and quite corroborates all Marcia has
said about her exhibiting no symptoms of fatigue. Her voice, indeed,
still retains its sad tone, but it is habitual to her, and does not
interfere with the attractive liveliness of her demeanor, but only adds
another charm to the many she already possesses.

She is taller than Tedcastle has led Molly to believe, and looks even
smaller than she really is. Her eyelids droop at the corners, and give
her a pensive expression that softens the laughter of her blue eyes.
Her nose is small and clever, her mouth very merry, her skin exquisite,
though devoid of the blue veins that usually go with so delicate a
white, and her hair is a bright, rich gold. She is extremely lovely,
and, what is far better, very pleasing to the eye.

"I am much better," she says, gayly, addressing Marcia, and then,
turning to Molly, holds out to her a friendly hand.

"Miss Massereene, I know," she smiles, looking at her, and letting a
pleased expressi