“I do her justice.  I do her full justice,” she went on, with soft earnestness.  “I like to say that, I like to be able to say it.  She ’s full of intelligence and courage and devotion.  She does n’t do me a grain of justice; but that is no harm.  There is something so fine in the aversions of a good woman!”

“If you would give Miss Garland a chance,” said Rowland, “I am sure she would be glad to be your friend.”

“What do you mean by a chance?  She has only to take it.  I told her I liked her immensely, and she frowned as if I had said something disgusting.  She looks very handsome when she frowns.”  Christina rose, with these words, and began to gather her mantle about her.  “I don’t often like women,” she went on.  “In fact I generally detest them.  But I should like to know Miss Garland well.  I should like to have a friendship with her; I have never had one; they must be very delightful.  But I shan’t have one now, either—­not if she can help it!  Ask her what she thinks of me; see what she will say.  I don’t want to know; keep it to yourself.  It ’s too sad.  So we go through life.  It ’s fatality—­that ’s what they call it, is n’t it?  We please the people we don’t care for, we displease those we do!  But I appreciate her, I do her justice; that ’s the more important thing.  It ’s because I have imagination.  She has none.  Never mind; it ’s her only fault.  I do her justice; I understand very well.”  She kept softly murmuring and looking about for Madame Grandoni.  She saw the good lady near the door, and put out her hand to Rowland for good night.  She held his hand an instant, fixing him with her eyes, the living splendor of which, at this moment, was something transcendent.  “Yes, I do her justice,” she repeated.  “And you do her more; you would lay down your life for her.”  With this she turned away, and before he could answer, she left him.  She went to Madame Grandoni, grasped her two hands, and held out her forehead to be kissed.  The next moment she was gone.

“That was a happy accident!” said Madame Grandoni.  “She never looked so beautiful, and she made my little party brilliant.”

“Beautiful, verily!” Rowland answered.  “But it was no accident.”

“What was it, then?”

“It was a plan.  She wished to see Miss Garland.  She knew she was to be here.”

“How so?”

“By Roderick, evidently.”

“And why did she wish to see Miss Garland?”

“Heaven knows!  I give it up!”

“Ah, the wicked girl!” murmured Madame Grandoni.

“No,” said Rowland; “don’t say that now.  She ’s too beautiful.”

“Oh, you men!  The best of you!”

“Well, then,” cried Rowland, “she ’s too good!”