treets, in which there were a good many pedestrians more
or less splashed with mud. There was a certain hopefulness in the
atmosphere, and yet a pathos such as there always is in Spring, when it
walks through London ways, bearing itself half nervously, like a country
cousin.

"I don't like this time of year," said Lady Cardington.

She was leaning back and glancing anxiously about her.

"But why not?" asked Lady Holme. "What's the matter with it?"

"Youth."

"But surely--"

"The year's too young. And at my age one feels very often as if the
advantage of youth were an unfair advantage."

"Dare I ask--?"

She checked herself, looking at her companion's snow-white hair, which
was arranged in such a way that it looked immensely thick under the big
black hat she wore--a hat half grandmotherly and half coquettish, that
certainly suited her to perfection.

"Spring--" she was beginning rather quickly; but Lady Cardington
interrupted her.

"Fifty-eight," she said.

She laughed anxiously and looked at Lady Holme.

"Didn't you think I was older?"

"I don't know that I ever thought about it," replied Lady Holme, with
the rather careless frankness she often used towards women.

"Of course not. Why should you, or anyone? When a woman's once
over fifty it really doesn't matter much whether she's fifty-one or
seventy-one. Does it?"

Lady Holme thought for a moment. Then she said:

"I really don't know. You see, I'm not a man."

Lady Cardington's forehead puckered and her mouth drooped piteously.

"A woman's real life is very short," she said. "But her desire for real
life can last very long--her silly, useless desire."

"But if her looks remain?"

"They don't."

"You think it is a question of looks?"

"Do you think it is?" asked Lady Cardington. "But how can you know
anything about it, at your age, and with your appearance?"

"I suppose we all have our different opinions as to what men are and
what men want," Lady Holme said, more thoughtfully than usual.

"Men! Men!" Lady Cardington exclaimed, with a touch of irritation
unusual in her. "Why should we women do, and be, everything for men?"

"I don't know, but we do and we are. There are some men, though, who
think it isn't a question of looks, or think they think so."

"Who?" said Lady Cardington, quickly.

"Oh, there are some," answered Lady Holme, evasively, "who believe in
mental charm more than in physical charm, or say they do. And mental
charm