"Oh, yes; you are always sincere."
"I have always been so to you. As to any sincerity beyond that we need say nothing now. I have always been your good friend,—to the best of my ability. Ah, Harry; you do not know how much I have thought of your welfare; how much I do think of it. But never mind that. Tell me something now of this Florence Burton of yours. Is she tall?" I believe that Lady Ongar, when she asked this question, knew well that Florence was short of stature.
"No; she is not tall," said Harry.
"What,—a little beauty? Upon the whole I think I agree with your taste. The most lovely women that I have ever seen have been small, bright, and perfect in their proportions. It is very rare that a tall woman has a perfect figure." Julia's own figure was quite perfect. "Do you remember Constance Vane? Nothing ever exceeded her beauty." Now Constance Vane,—she at least who had in those days been Constance Vane, but who now was the stout mother of two or three children,—had been a waxen doll of a girl, whom Harry had known, but had neither liked nor admired. But she was highly bred, and belonged to the cream of English fashion; she had possessed a complexion as pure in its tints as are the interior leaves of a blush rose,—and she had never had a thought in her head, and hardly ever a word on her lips. She and Florence Burton were as poles asunder in their differences. Harry felt this at once, and had an indistinct notion that Lady Ongar was as well aware of the fact as was he himself. "She is not a bit like Constance Vane," he said.
"Then what is she like? If she is more beautiful than what Miss Vane used to be, she must be lovely indeed."
"She has no pretensions of that kind," said Harry, almost sulkily.
"I have heard that she was so very beautiful!" Lady Ongar had never heard a word about Florence's beauty;—not a word. She knew nothing personally of Florence beyond what Mrs. Burton had told her. But who will not forgive her the little deceit that was necessary to her little revenge?
"I don't know how to describe her," said Harry. "I hope the time may soon come when you will see her, and be able to judge for yourself."
"I hope so too. It shall not be my fault if I do not like her."
"I do not think you can fail to like her. She is very clever, and that will go further with you than mere beauty. Not but what I think her very,—very pretty."