THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN
You don’t seem to see it as I do. How did she appeal to you, Brierley?”
The young fellow stepped in front of his chair and dropped into its depths.
“You are dead right, Herbert; you are, anyhow, about the Milo. I never go into her presence without lifting my hat, and I have kept it up for years. But you don’t do yourself justice, old man. Some of your things will live as long as they hold together. However”—and he laughed knowingly—“that’s for posterity to settle. How does madame appeal to me? you ask. Well, being a many-sided woman—no frills, no coquetry, nor sham—she appeals to me more as a comrade than in any other way—just plain comrade. Half the women one meets of her age and class have something of themselves to conceal, giving you a side which they are not, or trying to give it for you to read at first sight. She gave us her worst side first—or what we thought was her worst side—and her best last.”
“And you, Le Blanc?” resumed Herbert. “She’s your countrywoman; let’s have it.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Herbert. I, of course, have heard of her for years, and she was therefore not so much of a surprise to me as she was