"Because, cannot you fancy what a life you are going to lead him," says her ladyship, with a little arch laugh that wrinkles up her Grecian no. "Child I too have eyes and I can see mischief written in every line of your--_ugly_ little face." I try to feel angry, but cannot. It is in her power to make every word she utters an undeveloped compliment. I succumb at once and forever, and give myself up to her merry true-hearted influence. Putting my frowns in my pocket, I laugh. "If you keep on saying these things before 'Duke," I say, "he will find me out, and perhaps in time repent his bargain." Here I make a little _moue_ at my husband, who is standing rather behind his sister, which he returns with interest "How do you know I have not found you out long ago? It is my belief I married you for my sins. Harriet, I leave her now in your hands; reform her--if you can." "Go and look after James," says Lady Handcock "He always gets into mischief when left by himself. I want to make friends with Phyllis." By and by Miss Beatoun comes in, and I get through another introduction. She is hardly as tall as I am, and wonderfully pretty. No need to disbelieve the report that last season all men raved of her. Her eyes are large and dark and soft, her hair a very, very light brown, though hardly golden, and guiltless of dye. A tiny black mole, somewhat like a Queen Anne's patch, grows close to her left ear. As I look at her, I decide hastily she is _more_ than pretty--she is attractive. Her whole face is full of light; the very corners of her mouth express unuttered laughter; it is altogether the most _riante_, kissable, lovable face conceivable. Her bands and feet are fairy-like in their proportions. Nevertheless, her eyes, though unusually soft, betray the coquette; they cannot entirely conceal the mischievous longing for mastery that lurks in their velvet depths. "Is she not young, Bebe?" asks Lady Handcock, indicating me. "_Very_. Much younger even than I dared to hope. Of course"--to me--"we all heard you were _quite_ a girl; yet that did not reassure me, as it can be said of most brides, and as a rule they are a disagreeable lot. But you have forgotten to give yourself airs, and that is _so_ novel and delightful--so many young women _will_ go in for that sort of thing. I feel," says Miss Beatoun, gayly, "I am going to have a delicious autumn, and be very happy." "I hope so," I answer, earnestly. "Do you know, Lady Handcock, I quite dreaded your coming?--it kept me awake several nights, thinking perhaps you would be cold and difficult, and would not like me; and now I am _so_ relieved--you cannot fancy what a weight is off my mind." I say this with such evident feeling that they both laugh heartily, and Bebe gives it as her opinion that I am a "regular darling."