"No? Really!" said her Ladyship, with a mocking laugh. "Was Doctor Scales touched by the beauty of some of the painted canvases with speaking eyes?" "No; not a bit," he said cheerily--"not a bit. It set me wondering how it was that Lady Martlett's portrait was not on the walls." "I am not a fashionable beauty," said the lady haughtily. "Well, let us say a beauty, and not fashionable." A flash of triumph darted from Lady Martlett's eyes. He had granted, then, that she was beautiful--at last. But Jack Scales saw the look. "I have no desire to be painted for an exhibition," said Lady Martlett quietly. "But I thought all ladies loved to be admired." "Surely not all," she replied. "Are all women so weak?" "Well, I don't know. That is a question that needs discussing. I am disposed to think they are. It is a woman's nature; and when she does not care for admiration, she is either very old, or there is something wrong." "Why, you libel our sex." "By no means, madam. I did not say that they love the admiration of many. Surely she must be a very unpleasant woman indeed who does not care for the admiration of one man." "He is caught!" thought Lady Martlett, with a strange feeling of triumph. Perhaps there was something else in her sensation, but she would not own it then. "Perhaps you are right," she said quietly. "It may be natural; but in these days, Doctor Scales, education teaches us to master our weakness." "Which most of us do," he said, with a bow, "But really, if your Ladyship's portrait, painted by a masterly hand, had been hung."--He stopped short, as if thinking how to say his next words. "Well, doctor?" she said, giving him a look that he caught, weighed, and valued on the instant at its true worth. "It would have had a crowd around it to admire." "The artist's work, doctor?" "No, madam; the beauty of the features the artist had set himself to limn." "Is this a compliment, doctor, or a new form of bantering Lady Scarlett's guest?" said the visitor, rather bitterly. "Neither the one nor the other, but the simple truth." Lady Martlett fought hard to conceal the exultation; nay, more, the thrill of pleasure that ran through her nerves as she heard these words; but though outwardly she seemed quite calm, her cheeks were more highly coloured than usual, and her voice sounded deeper and more rich. Jack Scales told himself she was plotting to humble him to the very dust, so he stood upon his guard. Perhaps he did not know himself. Who does? If he had, he might have acted differently as he met Lady Martlett's eyes when she raised hers and said; "Ah, then, Doctor Scales has turned courtier and flatterer." "No; I was speaking very sincerely." "Ought I to sit here," said Lady Martlett, "and listen to a gentleman who tells me I am more handsome than one of the fashionable beauties of the season?" "Why not?" he said, smiling. "Is the truthful compliment so displeasing?"