ing!” She turned back to the glass, giving herself a last light touch such as she had bestowed on the roses.
“And that reminds me,” she continued—“how about Mr. Amherst’s wings?”
“John Amherst?” Mrs. Dressel brightened into immediate attention. “Why, do you know him?”
“Not as the owner of the Westmore Mills; but I came across him as their assistant manager three years ago, at the Hope Hospital, and he was starting a very promising pair then. I wonder if they’re doing as well under his new coat.”
“I’m not sure that I understand you when you talk poetry,” said Mrs. Dressel with less interest; “but personally I can’t say I like John Amherst—and he is certainly not worthy of such a lovely woman as Mrs. Westmore. Of course she would never let any one see that she’s not perfectly happy; but I’m told he has given them all a great deal of trouble by interfering in the management of the mills, and his manner is so cold and sarcastic—the truth is, I suppose he’s never quite at ease in society. Her family have never been really reconciled to the marriage; and Westy Gaines says
“Ah, Westy Gaines would,” Justine interposed lightly. “But if Mrs. Amherst is really the Bessy Langhope I used to know it must be rather a struggle for the wings!”
Mrs. Dressel’s flagging interest settled on the one
glimpse of fact in this statement. “It’s such a coinci-
[ 149 ]
