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28 Dorine; but then it was a smart dress; and Constance was sure to wear very expensive stays. Regular features: she was like Mamma; a clear-cut profile; dark eyes, now dimmed with melancholy; very pretty, white hands, with rings; and her hair especially interested Dorine: it was turning into a uniform steel-grey and it curled.

“Connie, does your hair curl of itself?”

“Of course not, Dorine; I wave it.”

“What a labour!”

Constance gave a careless laugh.

“Constance always had nice hair,” said Mamma, proudly.

“Oh, no, Mamma dear! I have horrid, straight hair.”

They were silent again; and all three of them felt that they were not speaking of what lay at their hearts.

“Constance, what lovely rings you have!”

“Ah, Dorine, I remember you used to admire me in the old days; when I went to a ball, you used to stand and gaze at me. But there is nothing left to admire, Dorine: I’m an old stick, now. . . .”

“My dear!” said Mamma, indignantly.

“You needn’t mind, Mamma: you’re always young, a young grandmamma. . . .”

And she pressed Mamma’s hand, with a touching fervour.