‘At that time Linda Smythe. Yes, Linda Constantia was seated at a piano the first evening my mother forced me down to Madame Benjamin’s salon. I think I see her now, poor soul, playing accompaniments to the singing--the terrible operatic singing of Papa Benjamin. By and by we danced in a round, “Have you seen the baker’s girl?” “Mary, soak thy bread in wine,” and other mild dances of the unmarried French _mees_. The governess remained at the piano still. ‘Our good Smeet! she knows so well to efface herself,’ said Madame Benjamin, giving me a tumbler of sugar-water to present to my countrywoman. I might almost answer your question, Dinah, in Madame Benjamin’s words--Linda Thorne understands perfectly the difficult social art of effacing oneself.’ ‘Was she effaced at Saturday’s rose-show?’ ‘She was a _locum tenens_, good-naturedly presiding over the refreshment stall for some friend with a sprained ankle.’ ‘With an affection of the throat, Gaston. So the story ran, when you first told it me.’ ‘You are severe, Dinah. If a pretty woman could possibly be tempted into feeling bitterly towards a plain one, I should say that you were bitter towards Linda Thorne.’ Dinah was unsoftened by the compliment. ‘To efface oneself,’ she repeated. ‘That means--in homely, plain English, such as I talk and understand?’ ‘To keep gracefully in the background while others fill the prominent parts,’ said Gaston, with a laugh. ‘If you knew Linda Thorne better, if you could see her at one of her own charming little parties, you would appreciate the knack she has of not shining. She is quite the least selfish, least self-absorbed creature in the world.’ Straight, warm, living, flew a denial from Dinah’s lips. ‘Mrs. Thorne is wrapt in selfishness! If she was a good, true woman, she must guess how the hearts of other women, other wives, bleed, only at a thought of neglect! I can’t cope with her, Gaston, for conversation. She was born and educated a lady, and I belong to the working people, less taught when I was a child than they are now. But that should make her generous. She is rich in good things--has she not got little Rahnee? And I have but the hope, weak that hope grows at times, of keeping your love.’ A flush of annoyance overspread Gaston Arbuthnot’s handsome face. ‘If you would only take life in a quieter spirit, Dinah, content yourself with the moment’s common happiness, like the rest of us! I speak in kindness, my dear girl.’ Mr. Gaston Arbuthnot here fell to examining his signet-ring closely, perhaps because he did not wish to meet his wife’s eyes. ‘If you would care for any mortal thing, in addition to that somewhat unworthy person, Gaston Arbuthnot, it would be better for us both.’ Dinah turned deadly white.