“Well, let us say a beauty, and not fashionable.”
A flash of triumph darted from Lady Martlett’s eyes. He had granted, then, that she was beautiful—at last.
But Jack Scales saw the look.
“I have no desire to be painted for an exhibition,” said Lady Martlett quietly.
“But I thought all ladies loved to be admired.”
“Surely not all,” she replied. “Are all women so weak?”
“Well, I don’t know. That is a question that needs discussing. I am disposed to think they are. It is a woman’s nature; and when she does not care for admiration, she is either very old, or there is something wrong.”
“Why, you libel our sex.”
“By no means, madam. I did not say that they love the admiration of many. Surely she must be a very unpleasant woman indeed who does not care for the admiration of one man.”
“He is caught!” thought Lady Martlett, with a strange feeling of triumph. Perhaps there was something else in her sensation, but she would not own it then.