IN A WINTER CITY. 95
her perfect in face and form, and gifted her with
inteUigence, and Fashion had made her useless,
tired, and vaguely cynical about everything, as
everybody else was in her world ; except that yet
larger number who resembled Madame Mila—a
worse type stUl, according to his view.
It was a pity that the coldness and corruption
of the great world had entered thus deeply into
her; so he thought, watching the droop of her
long eyelashes, the curve of her beautiful mouth,
the even coming and going of her breath under
her shining necklace of opals and emeralds.
He began to believe that the Due was right.
There was no " past" in that calmest of indolent
"You smoke, Madame?" he said, a Uttle
abi-uptly to her, after diimer.
She looked at her slender roU of paper.
" It is a habit—like all the rest of the things
ojie does. I do not care about it."
" Why do it then ? Are you not too proud to
foUow a habit, and imitate a folly ? "
She smUed a Uttle, and let the cigarette pale
its ineffectual fires and die out.