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She was sitting before the ancient mahogany dressing-table in her-and Wythie's-room, unblushingly regarding herself in the mirror, while the fingers of both hands, supporting her brilliant face, experimented with changes in it by pushing up the delicate eyebrows into quite a celestial angle. Frances Silsby, from the rocking-chair by the window, and Wythie on the foot of the bed, laughed. "I know I'm young by the record in the Bible-and by the way I feel," said Frances. "And I know I'm a lady by the company I keep, since 'birds of a feather, ' and so forth." Frances made a deep salaam almost to the floor, taking advantage of the forward tilt of the rocking-chair to deepen it.