He thought that Mrs. Fitzherbert wore uncommonly well. She had always been a fine creature, but he had never guessed that the girl of somewhat overwhelming physique whom he had known a quarter of a century before, would turn into this stately woman. The years only increased her attractiveness, and she had reason to look upon the common foes of mankind as her particular friends. She held herself with the assurance of a woman who has enjoyed masculine admiration. The Canon’s eyes rested with approval on the gown which displayed to advantage her beautiful figure. These flattering reflections were, perhaps, obvious on his face, for the lady smiled. “You may make it,” she said, with a flash of her exquisite teeth. “What?” asked the Canon, innocently opening his eyes. “The compliment that’s on the tip of your tongue.” “I think you grow handsomer every day,” he answered, without hesitation. “Thank you. And now tell me about Sophia and the children.” “I’d much sooner talk about you,” said the Canon, gallantly. “My dear friend, we’ve known one another too long. For flattery to be pleasing one must be convinced, at least for a moment, that it’s sincere, and you know I’ve never concealed from you my belief that you’re the most desperate humbug I’ve ever known.” “You put me at my ease at once,” he retorted, smiling and not in the least disconcerted. “But I’m sorry you’re so vain.” “Do you think I’m that?” “Certainly. It’s only because your inner consciousness tells you such agreeable things that you won’t listen to my timid observations.”