"Come at seven," she had said; "before if you can." And Miss Standish-Roe had arrived at a quarter to the hour.
When she entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Durlacher kissed her affectionately, then held her at arm's length, her hands on her shoulders and gazed pensively into her eyes.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Coralie asked.
Mrs. Durlacher shrugged her shoulders and turned away to her chair.
"For no reason at all, my dear child, and for a million reasons. I wish I was as pretty as you are."
"What nonsense!"
"Yes, isn't it? But if I had that red hair of yours, and those eyes, I'd be happy for the rest of my life. You can't grow old with that hair as long as you keep thin. Do you mind my telling you something?"
"No, not a bit; what?"
"You've got a little too much on that cheek, and your lips as well; do you mind?"
"Heavens! No! Was that one of the million reasons?" She crossed the room to a well-lighted mirror and, by the aid of its reflection, rubbed her cheeks and lips with a handkerchief taken from the front of her dress. "Was that why you stared at me?" she asked, turning round, looking at Mrs. Durlacher, then at that part of the handkerchief that her lips had touched.