‘Oh, do you call _her_ handsome?’ (I could tell at once from the tone of Justina’s voice that the owner of the scarlet flower was no favourite of hers.) ‘That is Lady Amabel Scott, a cousin of Harry’s: indeed, if she were not, she should never come into _my_ house. Now, there’s a woman, uncle, whom I can’t bear—a forward, presuming, flirting creature, with no desire on earth but to attract admiration. Look how she’s dressed this evening—absurd, for a home party. I wonder that her husband, Mr Warden Scott (that is he looking over the photograph book), can allow her to go on so! It is quite disgraceful. I consider a flirting married woman one of the most dangerous members of society.’ ‘But you can have no reason to fear her attacks,’ I said, confidently. The colour mounted to her face. My niece is not a pretty woman—indeed, I had already wondered several times what made Trevor fall in love with her—but this little touch of indignation improved her. ‘_Of course not!_ But Lady Amabel spares no one, and dear Harry is so good-natured that he refuses to see how conspicuous she makes both him and herself. I have tried to convince him of it several times, but he is too kind to think evil of any one, and so I must be as patient as I can till she goes. Thank Heaven, she does not spend her Christmas with us! For my part, I can’t understand how one can see any beauty in a woman with a turned-up nose.’ ‘Ho, ho!’ I thought to myself; ‘this is where the shoe pinches, is it? And if a lady will secure an uncommonly good-looking and agreeable man all to herself, she must expect to see others attempt to share the prize with her.’ Poor Justina! With as many blessings as one would think heart could desire, she was not above poisoning her life’s happiness by a touch of jealousy; and so I pitied her. It is a terrible foe with which to contend. ‘But this is but one off the list,’ I continued, wishing to divert her mind from the contemplation of Sir Harry’s cousin. ‘Who are those two dark girls standing together at the side table? and who is that quiet-looking little lady who has just entered with the tall man in spectacles?’ ‘Oh, those—the girls—are the Misses Rushton; they are pretty, are they not?—were considered quite the belles of last season—and the old lady on the opposite side of the fireplace is their mother: their father died some years since.’ ‘But the gentleman in spectacles? He looks quite a character.’