"Bah! that means nothing. Don’t you think she shows her teeth on purpose when she laughs; and then those big, soft eyes make her look affectedly sentimental. Why do you grin so? I suppose I am not as handsome as she is; but I wonder if she could put on my gloves and boots?" "You have adorable hands and feet, Miss Featherstone; everybody allows that." "Thank you. They say that every ugly woman has pretty hands and feet." "Nature leaves no creature absolutely unprotected, my dear. Let me give you some vanilla cream." "You are a brute. I hate you." "I have generally found that when a young lady says she hates you, she means she loves you—if you have a good income." "I have generally found that when a young lady rejects her suitor because of his want of brain, he instantly says she cast him off because of his want of money. But I wish you’d keep quiet, and let me hear what Mr. Melton is saying about next week. If he thinks I’ll play the people in with a farce, as well as play in the burlesque, he is mistaken. However, since you people have taken to write up Miss Brunel, she will order everything; and if the poor dear thinks seven too soon for her nerves after tea, I suppose she will get played whatever she wants." "Spiteful thing! You’re thinking of her handsome face and eyes and hair: why don’t you look in the mirror and calm yourself?" The little group at the head of the table had now split itself into two sections; and while Count Schönstein talked almost exclusively to Mr. Melton, Miss Brunel was engaged in what was apparently an interesting conversation with Will Anerley, who sate next her. But a patient observer would have noticed that the stout and pompous Count kept his eyes pretty well fixed upon the pair on his right; and that he did not seem wholly pleased by the amused look which was on Miss Brunel’s face as she spoke, in rather a low tone, to her companion: "You confess you are disappointed with me. That is quite natural; but tell me how I differ from what you expected me to be." She turned her large, lustrous eyes upon him; and there was a faint smile on her face. "Well," he said, "on the stage you are so unlike any one I ever saw that I did not expect to find you in private life like—like any one else, in fact." "Do you mean that I am like the young ladies you would expect to find in your friends’ house, if you were asked to go and meet some strangers?" "Precisely." "You are too kind," she said, looking down. "I have always been taught, and I know, that private people and professional people are separated by the greatest differences of character and habits; and that if I went amongst those young ladies of whom you speak, I should feel like some dreadfully wicked person who had got into heaven by mistake and was very uncomfortable. Have you any sisters?" "One. Well, she is not my sister, but a distant relation who has been brought up in my father’s house as if she were my sister." "Am I like her?"