She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her; but her prettiness was merely the bloom of youth, nothing more.

It was not that changeless beauty of structure--that beauty, as she recognized, of the very bone, which made Mrs.Page perennially lovely.

"In ten, fifteen, at the most in twenty years, I shall have lost it all," she thought.

"Then I shall get fat and common looking; and everything will be over for me because a little youthful colour and sparkle was all that I had.

I have nothing to hold on to--nothing that will last.