jump up from her chair and shake herself indignantly.

"Why, what nonsense I'm talking," she would tell herself, and her
listeners. "I make a very fair income, have a host of friends, and
enjoy every hour of my life. I should like to have been pretty or
handsome, of course; but no one can have all the good things of
this world, and I have my brains. At one time, perhaps, yes; but
now--no, honestly I would not change myself."

Miss Ramsbotham was sorry that no man had ever fallen in love with
her, but that she could understand.

"It is quite clear to me." So she had once unburdened herself to
her bosom friend. "Man for the purposes of the race has been given
two kinds of love, between which, according to his opportunities
and temperament, he is free to choose: he can fall down upon his
knees and adore physical beauty (for Nature ignores entirely our
mental side), or he can take delight in circling with his
protecting arm the weak and helpless. Now, I make no appeal to
either instinct. I possess neither the charm nor beauty to
attract--"

"Beauty," reminded her the bosom friend, consolingly, "dwells in
the beholder's eye."

"My dear," cheerfully replied Miss Ramsbotham, "it would have to be
an eye of the range and capacity Sam Weller frankly owned up to not
possessing--a patent double-million magnifying, capable of seeing
through a deal board and round the corner sort of eye--to detect
any beauty in me. And I am much too big and sensible for any man