"Not at all," said Celia, with a smile. "I wish the information was as
accurate as it is candid. No, I don't find the house dull. I'm very
busy, you see."

"Ah, that makes a difference, I suppose," said Miriam, leaning back and
barely concealing a yawn with her hand. "I'm afraid I shall be bored to
death if we stay here long. You know, I've only been married a short
time, and I hate being bothered."

Celia noted the petulant droop of the almost perfect lips, the faint
lines of weariness which trailed from the corners of them, noted the
weakness of the chin, the restlessness of the blue eyes which shone like
amethysts in the firelight; it was evident to Celia that this beautiful,
graceful young creature was not a happy woman. She did not know how
much, since her marriage, Miriam had deteriorated, mentally and
spiritually. One cannot touch pitch and escape undefiled.

"Oh, I've no doubt you'll find plenty to amuse you," she said. "The
country is delightful----"

"Oh, I'm rather fed up with the country," said Lady Heyton. "I've lived
in it all my life, you see--one of a poor country parson's superfluous
daughters. Oh, I've had enough of muddy lanes and stupid local people.
Give me London--and life. One doesn't live in the country, one only
exists, like a vegetable. Do you like my dress?" she asked, with her
irrelevant abruptness; and she cast a complacent eye down her
exquisitely-clad figure.