"Why are you so down on little Mrs. Maynard?" queried Wendell Churchill, emerging from a recess of the window where he and Nathalie had been whiling away the morning hours with mandolin and banjo.
"I am not down on her in the least, but I think she is uninteresting to a degree."
She paused until the portières had closed on Helen's retreating figure, and then met Churchill's eyes with a meaning smile.
"It is not surprising, is it, that her husband should find Mrs. Desborough a pleasing contrast?"
In her far-away corner hot-tempered Nathalie caught the words and flared up in defense of her friend:
"Oh, I think it is a shame to speak so. Mrs. Maynard is unhappy, but no woman ever bore unhappiness with greater dignity. It seems to me incredible that everybody's sympathies are not enlisted on her side."
"I am very unfortunate," returned Miss Stuart with thinly veiled sarcasm. "This is the second time I have erred in this way. I must be more careful in future not to give expression to my opinions."
Churchill saw that some unpleasantness was imminent, and, manlike, rushed in only to make matters worse.
"Don't you think Miss Nathalie looks very much like Mrs. Desborough? I have so often noticed the resemblance."
With blazing eyes, Nathalie started up from the low window-seat.