As Angel sat in the drawing-room, mechanically turning over a book of photographs, too unnerved to mix with other women and talk gossip or chiffons, she suddenly looked up and found Lady Eustace beside her, who said: "Mrs. Gascoigne, here is a lady who is most anxious to make your acquaintance. Let me introduce Mrs. Waldershare, a very old friend of your husband's." Angel rose, and held out her hand in silence. Was this the pretty girl that they said Philip had married? mentally asked Lola, as with one comprehensive glance she criticised her substitute. Why, her complexion was like a sheet of white paper, and her collar-bones stood out in pitiful prominence; but she had wonderful eyes, and her figure was graceful, her dress elegant. "I felt that you and I ought to know one another as soon as possible," said Lola in her drawling voice; "you know Philip and I are such old, old friends; we were girl and boy together, and I should so much like to be friends with his wife." "Thank you," said Angel, faintly. What a namby-pamby creature! thought her listener—aloud, "Do let us go over and take possession of that most delicious-looking sofa and have a good, comfortable talk—before the men come," and she led the way with admirable grace. "I think," she continued, settling herself with a cushion at her back, "these little after-dinner chats are such opportunities for seeing something of other women," and she nodded over at Angel with a delightful expression of good fellowship; she was considerably startled by the expression in the girl's eyes. What did they say? They conveyed a grave, almost awed admiration; now Lola loved admiration, and accepted it greedily from any source, from a crossing-sweeper upwards. That Philip's wife should admire her with those great tragic blue eyes was funny. She always had an idea that Philip's wife would not care for her. This simple chit would care for her, and be exceedingly useful. She meant to place herself under the dear child's nice white wing—yes, and her name was Angel. "Have you any children?" she asked softly. Angel blushed to the roots of her hair, and shook her head. "But dozens of dogs, I am sure! Philip was always crazy about dogs and horses, yes, and all sorts of horrid things, toads and tortoises and tadpoles. You are quite young," she resumed; "oh, how I wish I were your age!" "I should not mind exchanging," said Angel, with a faint smile. "I only wish we could," rejoined Lola with emphasis; "oh, you can't think how bitterly I cried the day I was thirty!" "Really? Why should you mind, and you look so young." And then with an effort she asked, "Are you staying in Marwar, or just passing through?"