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IN A WINTER CITY.

smile. "At least they say so. But every human being loves his vanity first. 'Only wounded my vanity?' poor Lord Strangford used to say. 'Pray what dearer and more integral part of myself could you wound?' He was very right. If we are not on good terms with ourselves we can never prevail with others."

"Yet a vain man seldom succeeds with women?"

"A man who lets them see that he is vain does not: that is another matter. Vanity—ah! there is Miladi, she has plenty of vanity; yet it is of a grandiose kind, and it would only take a little more time and the first grey hair to turn it into dissatisfaction. All kinds of discontent are only superb vanities. Byron's, Musset's, Bolingbroke's ———"

A horse nearly knocked the Duc down in the midst of his philosophies as he picked his way delicately amongst the standing and moving carriages to the place where the white great-coats with the black velvet collars of the Lady Hilda's servants were visible.

The Lady Hilda's victoria stood in that open