"You are a charming woman, madame--a truly admirable woman; but"--he straightened himself, and looked into her eyes--"I should not like to have you for an enemy." "What do you mean by that?" asked Lady Jim, artlessly. "A compliment, madame--believe me, a very high compliment." ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ CHAPTER XXIII "Oh, it's lovely, lovely, lovely!" sang Joan Tallentire, clapping her hands, and whirling dervish-fashion around the room. A radiant day or so in Paris had acted on her as sunshine acts on a flower, when the petals expand, the colour deepens, and the perfume exhales. What observer, casual or close, would have recognised in this eager-eyed and sparkling girl the timid companion of Lady Canvey? For weeks she had associated with the octogenarian; many months had she superintended the well-being of pauper hags in Lambeth slums; and in the nursing of an ailing mother many precious years had been expended. No wonder the fire of being burnt low; no marvel that for long the eyes had lacked lustre and the cheeks colour. It was truly a case of the old eating the young--stealing by contact, as it were, the vitality of youth to reanimate waning life. Now Lady Jim, playing fairy-godmother, had transformed this Cinderella, and the grub of Lambeth soared a splendid dragon-fly. The spring, long delayed in its coming, sang in her veins. With stimulating company, amidst novel surroundings, and with tempting food for satisfying physical and moral appetites, came the renascent period. Joan felt the burden of artificial years slip from her shoulders; her quick blood, responding to its environments, rose to fever heat. One cloud alone necked the sunshine of pleasure's dawn. "I wish Lionel was here," she sighed. "A Pagan in the temple, a Jew in the church," said Lady Jim, shrugging. "My dear, Paris was invented for clergymen to rail at, not to enjoy." "Lionel is not narrow-minded, Lady James. He approves of innocent amusements." "Magic-lanterns and penny readings. I fear Paris cannot supply those dissipations. You can enjoy them under the honeymoon. Meanwhile Mr. Askew is less exacting and more amusing." "There is no one like Lionel--no one." "I grant that, else would the world be innocent and dull." Joan pursed up her pretty lips and wrinkled a smooth brow. "I don't understand that," said she, meditatively. "No," assented Leah, with a slow and somewhat envious look; "you never will." "Why not?" "I could give you fifty reasons, but three will do. You are good and kind and healthy-minded to excess--an angel, whose white wings flutter above the mire in which we bipeds grovel. Quite the wife for our unsophisticated padre. St. Sebastian and St. Cecilia--surely a marriage arranged in heaven." Miss Tallentire could not quite follow Leah's flights--not an infrequent occurrence. Nevertheless, her intuition espied a compliment. "Do you really mean that?"