"A man will tell the woman he loves many things he will not tell the woman he admires."
"As wise as the serpent," bantered the mother; but she looked again into the mirror to see if her color was still what it should be. "And whom does he admire?" the Mona Lisa smile hovering at the corners of her lips.
"You," evenly.
Mrs. Chedsoye thought for a moment, thought deeply and with new insight. It was no longer a child but a woman, and mayhap she had played upon the taut strings of the young heart once too often. Still, she was unafraid.
"And whom does he love?"
"Me. Shall I get you the rouge, mother?"
Still with that unchanging smile, the woman received the stab. "My daughter," as if speculatively, "you will get on. You haven't been my pupil all these years for nothing. Let us go down to dinner."
Fortune, as she silently followed, experienced a sense of disconcertion rather than of elation.