They both gazed for a moment at the lonely woman.
"There is, of course, a certain beauty in Mrs. Chepstow's face," the Doctor said.
"I am not speaking of beauty; I am speaking of ideality, of purity. Don't you see what I mean? Now, be honest."
"Yes, I do."
"Ah!" said Armine.
The exclamation sounded warmly pleased.
"But that look, I think, is a question merely of line, and of the way the hair grows. Do you mean to say that you would rather judge a woman by that than by the actions of her life?"
"No. But I do say that if you examined the life of a woman with a face like that—the real life—you would be certain to find that it had not been devoid of actions such as you would expect, actions illustrating that look of ideality which any one can see. What does Mrs. Derringham really know of Mrs. Chepstow? She is not personally acquainted with her, even. She acknowledged that. She has never spoken to her, and doesn't want to."
"That scarcely surprises me, I confess," the Doctor remarked.
There was a definite dryness in his tone, and Armine noticed it.