Seen in the same room with Nelly Sarratt she could hardly be guessed at less than twenty-eight.

She was the mature woman in full possession of every feminine weapon, experienced, subtle, conscious, a little hard, a little malicious.

Nelly Sarratt beside her looked a child.

Miss Farrell had glanced at her with curiosity, but had not addressed many words to her.

She had concluded at once that it was a type that did not interest her.