Betty came up to see Frances nearly every day, and the kissing and embracing that ensued disgusted Sarah.

“Now, if Frances were a man, I could understand it,” said Sarah.  “The little barmaid must be tempting to a man, being pretty and—­”

“Beautiful, Sarah!” I interrupted.

“Yes, beautiful, if you will.”

“Her eyes—­” I began, again interrupting Sarah.

“Oh, yes!” cried Sarah, impatiently.  “Her eyes are fine enough, but their expression comes from their color, their size, and their preposterously long eyelashes.  Black long lashes often give a radiance to the eyes which passes for expressiveness, and I doubt not—­”

“Nonsense, Sarah!” I cried, half angrily.  “Bettina’s eyes are expressive in themselves.  As you say, their soft dark brown is the perfection of color, and they certainly are large.  But aside from all that, their expression is—­”

“There is no intellect in them!” cried Sarah.

“There is tenderness, gentleness, love, and truth in them,” I answered, with as careless an air as I could assume.

“Yes, there may be for a man, but I insist there is no real intellect.”

“Well, Sarah,” I answered, showing irritation despite an effort to appear indifferent, “it is my opinion that the possession of great intellectual power by a woman is the one virtue with which men, as a rule, find themselves most willing to dispense.  It gives her too great an advantage.”

“Yes, a soft, plump figure like Betty’s, long lashes and red lips, surrounded by dimples, are apt to please a fool.”

“But they’re good in their way, Sarah, you’ll admit—­excellent!” I retorted sharply, caring little if she saw that I was angry.

“And men are fools, so there!  Not another word about the barmaid!” cried Sarah, dismissing the subject with a wave of her hand.

But men, too, sometimes like to have the last word, so I remarked:  “The mother of the Duchess of York was a barmaid, at least, a barmistress.”

“Yes, but is that any reason why Frances should be kissing this one?  Doubtless your friend Betty finds men enough to do the office.”

“Sarah!” I cried, springing to my feet, now thoroughly angry.  “If you were a man, I’d give you the lie direct!”

Sarah began to laugh and clapped her hands, saying:  “I was leading you on.  I suspected you were fond of her.  Now I know it.”

But Sarah’s remark, being so near the truth, did nothing to allay my anger, so I told her she was a fool, and went into an adjoining room, where I found Frances and Bettina luxuriating in tearful sympathy.

I walked home with Bettina, and she invited me to go to her parlor to have a cup of tea.  To see Bettina boil the tea (steep it or draw it, she said was the proper phrase) was as pretty a sight as one could wish to behold, and when she poured it out in thin china cups, handing one to me and taking one herself, her pride in following the fashion of modish ladies was as touching as it was simple and beautiful.  It was almost more than my feeble resolutions could withstand, so when I was about to leave I had a great battle with myself and was defeated, for I seized her hands, and although I said nothing, she knew what was in my mind, so she hung her head, murmuring:—­