Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. ’ ‘Merci. Don't lay it all to the boy. Her pulses began to race.
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