"I will say that I think you are throwing yourself away."
"Where? Over the balcony?"—wilfully. "I assure you, you misjudge me: I am far too great a coward."
"You are not too great a coward to contemplate the committing of a much more serious betise. To-night his attentions were specially marked, and you allowed them."
"I can't think what you mean."
"Will you deny that Mr. Ronayne paid you very marked attention to-night?"
"Marked! Where did he make his impression, then? He didn't pinch me, if you mean that."
"Of course you can follow your own wishes, dearest, and I shall neither gain nor lose; but it does seem a pity, when you might be a countess and have the world at your feet. I know few so altogether fitted to fill the position, and still you reject it. You are pretty, clever, charming,—everything of the most desirable."
"Am I?" She steps into the drawing-room, and brings herself by a swift step or two opposite a huge mirror let into one of the walls. Standing before it, she surveys herself leisurely from head to foot, and then she smiles.
"I don't know about the 'clever,'" she says; "but I am sure I am pretty. In town last season—do you remember?—my hair created quite a furore, it is so peculiarly light. Ever so many people wanted to paint me. Yes, it was all very pleasant."
"Do you think it will be as pleasant to live here all your days, and find no higher ambition than the hope that your ponies may be prettier than Mrs. So-and-so's?"