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The next afternoon they were walking in the park, at some distance from the palace, when they came to a bridge over a bit of artificial water; and there was the woman of yesterday, leaning on the parapet, throwing bread-crumbs to the carp. She looked up, as they passed, and bowed, with a little smile, in acknowledgment of their raised hats.

When they were out of ear-shot, "H'm," muttered Hilary, "viewed at close quarters, she’s a trifle disenchanting."

"Oh?" questioned his friend. "I thought her very good-looking."

"She has too short a nose," Hilary complained.

"What’s the good of criticising particular features? The general effect of her face was highly pleasing. She looked intelligent, interesting; she looked as if she would have something to say," the younger man insisted.

"It’s very possible she has a tongue in her head," admitted Hilary; "but we were judging her by the rules of beauty. For my fancy, she's too tall."

"She’s tall, but she's well-proportioned. Indeed, her figure struck me as exceptionally fine. There was something sumptuous and noble about it," declared the other.

"There are scores of women with fine figures in this world," said Hilary. "But I’m sorely disappointed in her hair. Her hair is nothing like so red as I’d imagined."

"You're daft on the subject of red hair. Her hair’s not carrot-colour, if you come to that. But there’s plenty of red in it. It's brown, with red burning through. The red is managed with discretion — suggestively. And did you notice her eyes? She

The Yellow Book—Vol. XIII.