"I am Helena Belmont," replied that young woman, serenely. "Besides, I've got the will to be beautiful as well as the outside. Tiny hasn't. I have real audacity, and Ila only a make-believe. Caro shows her cards every time she rolls her eyes, and Mrs. Washington never had a particle of dash. I'm going to be the belle. I'm going to turn the head of every man in San Francisco."
"I'm afraid you will, Helena."
"Afraid? You know you want me to. It wouldn't be half such fun if you weren't approving and applauding."
"I don't want you to hurt anybody."
"Hurt?" Helena opened her dark-blue pellucid eyes. "The idea of bothering about a trifle like that. Men expect to get a scratch or two for the privilege of knowing us. It will be something for a man to remember for the rest of his life that I've 'hurt' him."
"I am afraid you're a spoilt beauty already, Helena."
"I've got the world at my feet. That's a lovely sensation. You can't think—it's a wonderful sensation."
"I can imagine it." Magdaléna spoke without bitterness. Helena realised all her old ambitions but one, but she was too happy for envy.
"Describe Mr. Trennahan all over again."
"I am such a bad hand at describing."