Lady Beaulyon looked at her narrowly, unconvinced. "What have you left your aunt for?" she asked. "Simply because she wants me to marry Roxmouth, and I won't!" said Maryllia, emphatically. "Why not?" "First, because I don't love him,--second, because he has slandered me by telling people that I am running after his title, to excuse himself for running after Aunt Emily's millions; and lastly, but by no means leastly, because he is--unclean." "All men are;" said Eva Beaulyon, drily--"It's no use objecting to that!" Maryllia made no remark. She was standing before her dressing-table, singing softly to herself, while she dexterously fastened a tiny diamond arrow in her hair. "I suppose you're going to try and 'live good' down here!"--went on Lady Beaulyon, after a pause--"It's a mistake,--no one born of human flesh and blood can do it. You can't 'live good' and enjoy yourself!" "No?" said Maryllia, tentatively. "No, certainly not! For if you never do anything out of the humdrum line, and never compromise yourself in any way, Society will be so furious with your superiority to itself that it will invent a thousand calumnies and hang them all on your name. And you will never know how they arise, and never be able to disprove them." "Does it matter?"--and Maryllia smiled--"If one's conscience is clear, need one care what people say?" "Conscience!" exclaimed Lady Beaulyon--"What an old-fashioned expression! Surely it's better to do something people can lay hold of and talk about, than have them invent something you have never done! They will give you no credit for virtue or honesty in this world, Maryllia, unless you grow ugly and deformed. Then perhaps they will admit you may be good, and they will add--'She has no temptation to be otherwise.'" "I do not like your code of morality, Eva," said Maryllia, quietly. "Perhaps not, but it's the only one that works in OUR day!" replied Eva, with some heat, "Surely you know that?" "I try to forget it as much as possible,"--and Maryllia's eyes were full of a sweet wistfulness as she spoke--"Especially here--in my father's home!" "Oh well!" said Lady Beaulyon, with a touch of impatience--"You are a strange girl--you always were! You can 'live good,' or try to, if you like; and stay down here all alone with the doldrums and the humdrums. But you'll be sick of it in six months. I'm sure you will! Not a man will come near you,--they hate virtuous women nowadays,-- and scarce a woman will come either, save old and ugly ones! You will kill yourself socially altogether by the effort. Life's too short to lose all the fun out of it for the sake of an ideal or a theory!" Here the gong sounded for dinner. Maryllia turned away from her dressing-table, and confronted her friend. Her face was grave and earnest in its expression, and her eyes were very steadfast and clear.