She married very badly; went abroad with her husband; buried him in Montreal; and came home again.

Her purse is as slender as her figure, and not half so well worth possessing.

She says she is twenty-eight, and to her praise be it acknowledged that she speaks the truth.

Even _good_ women sometimes stammer over this question! "My sin, my sin ?" demands she now gaily, smiling at Lady Rylton.
She flings up her lovely arms, and fastens them behind her head.

Her smile is full of mockery.
"Of course, my dear Marian, you cannot suppose that I have been blind to the fact that you and Maurice have--for the past year--been--er----" "Philandering ?" suggests Mrs.Bethune lightly.
She leans a little forward, her soft curved chin coming in recognition.
"I beg, Marian, you won't be vulgar," says Lady Rylton, fanning herself petulantly.