"We have been discussing Progress," she says, with that exquisite smile of hers lighting her face like moonlight as she looks at him. "I was saying women spoil themselves by their dress nowadays. It is too elaborate--too overdone. Lauraine is one of the few women who can dress perfectly. But then she has taste and artistic feeling." "It is not every one who could dare to copy the Lady Etwynde," Keith says, with an admiring glance at the amber clouds that seem to float round the graceful figure of his companion. "And to one who dresses as she does, all other women must look only 'clothed.'" "A distinction with a difference," says Lady Etwynde. "You pay compliments very gracefully. That is a rare thing nowadays." "You are very good to flatter me," answers Keith. "What I said was scarcely a compliment. How handsome Lady Jean Salomans looks to-night!" "Yes," answers his companion, giving a rapid glance from under her languid lids in the direction indicated. Lady Jean is sitting on an ottoman, with a maze of hothouse blossoms as a background for her brilliant beauty, and wears a dress of corn-coloured satin, with scarlet poppies gleaming here and there. Sir Francis is standing beside her, and looking down with unmistakable admiration at the animated face and brilliant eyes. Involuntarily Keith's glance turns from her to Lauraine. What a contrast! "Like a sunflower and a lily," murmurs the Lady Etwynde, following that glance and comprehending it. "Yes," he says, quietly. "They are very unlike. One would scarcely expect the same man to admire both." "Sir Francis has been more than two years married," says Lady Etwynde, musingly. "Time enough, I suppose, to admire other people besides his own wife. Why will women marry? It is such a mistake!" "Why will they marry the wrong man, is more to the point," Keith mutters under his thick moustache. "Heavens, what ill-assorted matches one does see!" "True," replies "the Ladye." "Scarcely made in heaven, I suppose you think?" "In a very different place, it is my candid opinion." Mrs. Douglas has risen ere this and moved away. She is never comfortable in Keith Athelstone's presence, and is only too thankful when she can evade him. "Yes," says Lady Etwynde. "It is sad, but true, that much of the unhappiness of life is caused voluntarily--the proofs of our own unwisdom. Of course, results are always unforeseen. We only grope in the dark. But, for my part, I have never heard of people acting for what they term 'the best' without dire misfortunes following." Keith's eyes seem to travel down the long rooms to where one shimmering white robe trails in fleecy folds. His heart aches bitterly as he thinks of what "acting for the best" has brought upon two lives that might have been so happy now. "_Oh, the little more, and how much it is, and the little less--and what worlds away!_"