Bexley admired lovely women, especially when they were women of intelligence also, so that to gaze unobserved at these two afforded him keen pleasure. Their every movement was a graceful pose--perhaps studied in the case of the elder woman, but not so with the younger; and their long clinging gowns served to enhance the beauty of their well-proportioned forms. “A pretty picture,” remarked Mrs. Neville Williams, in an undertone, suddenly appearing beside his chair. “Age instructing youth in the way of vice.” She glanced towards the pair as she spoke. Her words jarred on Bexley in his present mood. “I do not know why you should think that,” he returned with warmth. “I should say that Mrs. Potter Wemyss would be more likely to teach virtue than vice.” “Oh yes”--with a laugh that was half a sneer,--“I know she is very good. Goes to church regularly, refuses to travel on Sunday, and won’t act during Lent. But it’s just a fad, you know, which she, being at the top of the ladder, can afford to indulge. It’s a good advertisement too. An actress does not usually possess a reputation of that kind.” Bexley wondered what it was that made Mrs. Neville Williams so ungenerous to those of her own sex. Whenever he met her, which was very frequently of late--more often, if the truth be known, than he desired,--she always had something spiteful to say about one of their mutual acquaintance. He did not admire this trait in her character, and generally felt called upon to defend the lady who happened to be under discussion. “It is hardly fair to take it for granted that Mrs. Wemyss is guilty of hypocrisy,” he said with a touch of asperity. “I consider it very praiseworthy on her part to stick to her Christian principles even though she is on the stage. Her example is one which might be followed to advantage by the lesser luminaries of her profession.” “That sounds very nice,” Mrs. Williams replied with a shrug. “But I am afraid that I do not believe in such goodness. The world--especially the theatrical world--is too full of sham and make-believe.” “And yet there is plenty of unaffected sincerity too, if we only know where to look for it,” the peer returned musingly, his eyes still on Celia and Mrs. Potter Wemyss. “Do you know, I used to think that when a human being ceased to believe in goodness, and in God as the Author of all goodness, he--or she--was no longer fit to live. Sometimes I think so now.” Mrs. Neville Williams bit her lip, although it was not Bexley’s fault if she chose to apply the remark to herself. “That is rather a strong expression,” she said, her small foot tapping the ground. “Yes, one feels strongly sometimes,” he rejoined; then turned to Haviland’s little girl, who had just come into the room. Mrs. Williams moved away wondering what had occurred to vex his lordship, for that he had been put out about something was evident. It was a question whether she would have been pleased, had she known.