‘Me, I have a name. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. Their faces had bite marks that were hers. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. I overheard what Mr. "Oh!" she gasped. “No power on earth will persuade me we’re not two rather disreputable persons.
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