of applause; but having shown herself unworthy by observing that Miss Harleth looked far more like a queen in her own dress than in that baggy thing with her arms all bare, she was not invited a second time.
"Do I look as well as Rachel, mamma?" said Gwendolen one day when she had been showing herself in her Greek dress to Anna, and going through scraps of scenes with much tragic intention.
"You have better arms than Rachel," said Mrs Davilow; "your arms would do for anything, Gwen. But your voice is not so tragic as hers: it is not so deep."
"I can make it deeper if I like," said Gwendolen, provisionally; then she added, with decision, "I think a higher voice is more tragic: it is more feminine; and the more feminine a woman is, the more tragic it seems when she does desperate actions."
"There may be something in that," said Mrs Davilow, languidly. "But I don’t know what good there is in making one’s blood creep. And if there is anything horrible to be done, I should like it to be left to the men."
"Oh mamma, you are so dreadfully prosaic! As if all the great poetic criminals were not women! I think the men are poor cautious creatures."
