Apparently sharing her views, Mrs Underhill expostulated, saying in a voice which held more of pleading than censure: “Now, Tiffany-love! You shouldn’t talk like that! Whatever would people think if they was to hear you? It’s not becoming—and so, I’ll be bound, Miss Trent will tell you!”

“Much I care!”

“Well, that shows what a pea-goose you are!” struck in Charlotte, firing up in defence of her idol. “Because Miss Trent is much more genteel than you are, or any of us, and—”

“Thank you, Charlotte, that will do!”

“Well, it’s true!” muttered Charlotte rebelliously.

Ignoring her, Miss Trent smiled at Mrs Underhill, saying: “No, ma’am: not at all becoming, and not at all wise either.”

“Why not?” Tiffany demanded.

Miss Trent regarded her thoughtfully. “Well, it’s an odd circumstance, but I’ve frequently observed that whenever you boast of your beauty you seem to lose some of it. I expect it must be the change in your expression.”

Startled, Tiffany flew to gaze anxiously into the ornate looking-glass which hung above the fireplace. “Do I?” she asked naively. “Really do I, Ancilla?”

“Yes, decidedly,” replied Miss Trent perjuring her soul without the least hesitation. “Besides, when a female is seen to admire herself it sets up people’s backs, and she finds very soon that she is paid fewer compliments than any girl of her acquaintance. And nothing is more agreeable than a prettily turned compliment!”

“That’s true!” exclaimed Tiffany, much struck. She broke into laughter, flitting across the room to bestow a brief em-brace upon Miss Trent. “I do love you, you horrid thing, because however odious you may be you are never stuffy! I won’t admire myself any more: I’ll beg pardon for being an antidote instead! Oh, Patience, are you positively sure Sir Waldo is coming?”