The Duchess, quickly reseated, watched an instant the inexpressive concussion of the tall brother and sister; then while Mitchy again subsided into his place, "You're not, as a race, clever, you're not delicate, you're not sane, but you're capable of extraordinary good looks," she resumed.

"Vous avez parfois la grande beaute." Mitchy was much amused.

"Do you really think Petherton has ?" The Duchess withstood it.

"They've got, both outside and in, the same great general things, only turned, in each, rather different ways, a way safer for him as a man, and more triumphant for her as--whatever you choose to call her! What CAN a woman do," she richly mused, "with such beauty as that-- ?" "Except come desperately to advise with Mrs.Brook"-- Mitchy undertook to complete her question--"as to the highest use to make of it?
But see," he immediately added, "how perfectly competent to instruct her our friend now looks." Their hostess had advanced to Lady Fanny with an outstretched hand but with an eagerness of greeting merged a little in the sweet predominance of wonder as well as in the habit, at such moments most perceptible, of the languid lily-bend.

Nothing in general could have been less conventionally poor than the kind of reception given in Mrs.Brookenham's drawing-room to the particular element--the element of physical splendour void of those disparities that make the question of others tiresome--comprised in Lady Fanny's presence.