As for Natasha, she felt herself pushed out of Andre Fauvel's life by the very thing for which she so much yearned, his middle-cla.s.s respectability. He would never dream of marrying one such as her, presumably spoiled, flighty, steeped in publicity, dowerless. No, never. He would choose some good, simple, middle-cla.s.s daughter of a friend, or acquaintance, or perhaps his absent sister would choose her for him. He would settle down to the tranquillity of an unexciting married life and raise many children. How she wished that she could be that wife and lead that tranquil life by his side and bear for him those children.

The band beat out a tingling Cha-cha-cha. A bottle of champagne stood opened on the table. They were between courses awaiting the arrival of a super Chateaubriand. All about them voices were raised in merriment and laughter, and the three sat enveloped in thick silence.

Shaking off the shadow that had fallen athwart her and feeling the wonderful excitement of life and beauty that was all about them, Mrs Harris suddenly became aware of the condition of her two companions and tried to do something about it. 'Ain't you two going to dance?' she asked.

M. Fauvel blushed and mumbled something about not having danced for a long time. He would have loved nothing better, but he had no wish to compel Natasha to endure an embrace that must be repulsive to her.

'I do not feel like dancing,' said Mlle Pet.i.tpierre. She would have given anything to have been on the floor with him at that moment, but would not embarra.s.s him after his obvious reluctance to have anything to do with her beyond the normal requirements of duty and politeness.

But Mrs Harris's keen ears had already caught the hollowness of their voices with the unmistakable note of misery contained therein, and her shrewd eyes darted from one to the other appraising them.

'Look 'ere,' she said, 'wot's the matter wiv you two?'

'But nothing.'

'Of course, nothing.'

In their efforts to prove this M. Fauvel and Mlle Pet.i.tpierre simultaneously broke into bright and brittle chatter aimed at Mrs Harris while they avoided one another's eyes and which they kept up for a minute until it suddenly petered out and the silence resettled itself more thickly.

'Blimey,' said Mrs Harris, 'of all the fools, me. I thought you two 'ad it settled between you long ago.' She turned to M. Fauvel and asked: 'Ain't you got no tongue in your 'ead? What are you waitin' for?'

M. Fauvel flushed as brightly crimson as the electric light bulb above his head 'But - but - I - I- ' he stammered, 'she would never.'

Mrs Harris turned to Natasha. 'Can't you 'elp 'im a bit? In my day when a young lydy had her 'eart set on a fellow she'd let him know soon enough. 'Ow do you think I got me own 'usband?'

There was a white light above the beautiful dark, glossy head of the girl, and now she turned as pale as its incandescence.

'But Andre does not- ' she whispered.

'Garn,' said Mrs Harris, ' 'E does too - and so do you. I've got eyes in me 'ead. You're both in love. What's keepin' you apart?'

Simultaneously M. Fauvel and Mlle Pet.i.tpierre began: 'He wouldn't- '

'She couldn't- '

Mrs Harris chuckled wickedly. 'You're in love, ain't you? 'Oo can't do wot?'

For the first time the two young people looked one another directly in the eyes and saw what lay there. Caught up in one another's gaze, which they could not relinquish, into their faces at last came the clarifying expressions of hope and love. Two tears formed at the corners of Natasha's exquisite eyes and glistened there.

'And now, if you'll excuse me for a minute,' Mrs Harris announced significantly, 'I'll just go and pay a little visit to me aunt.' She rose and went off in the direction of the pavilion.

When she returned a good fifteen minutes later, Natasha was locked in M. Fauvel's arms on the dance floor, her head pillowed on his chest and her face was wet with tears. But when they saw she had returned to the table, they came running to her and threw their arms about her. M. Fauvel kissed one witheredapple cheek, Natasha the other, and then the girl put both arms around Mrs Harris's neck and wept there for a moment murmuring: 'My dear, I am so happy, Andre and I are going to- '

'Go on,' said Mrs Harris, 'what a surprise ! 'Ow about a bit of bubbly to celebrate?'

They all lifted their gla.s.ses and thereafter it was the gayest, brightest, happiest night that Mrs Harris had ever known in her whole life.

AND so the day dawned at last when 'Temptation' was finished and it came time for Mrs Harris to take possession of her treasure swathed in reams of tissue paper and packed in a glamorous cardboard box with the name ' so the day dawned at last when 'Temptation' was finished and it came time for Mrs Harris to take possession of her treasure swathed in reams of tissue paper and packed in a glamorous cardboard box with the name 'DIOR' printed on it in golden letters as large as life.

There was quite a little gathering for her in the Salon of Dior's in the late morning - she was leaving on an afternoon plane - and from somewhere a bottle of champagne had appeared. Mme Colbert was there, Natasha and M. Fauvel, and all of the fitters, cutters, and seamstresses who had worked so hard and faithfully to finish her dress in record time.

They drank her health and safe journey, and there were gifts for her, a genuine crocodile leather handbag from a grateful Mme Colbert, a wrist watch from an equally grateful M. Fauvel, and gloves and perfume from the more than grateful Natasha.

The manageress took Mrs Harris in her arms, held her closely for a moment, kissed her, and whispered in her ear: 'You have been very very lucky for me, my dear. Soon perhaps I shall be able to write to you of a big announcement concerning my husband.'

Natasha hugged her too and said: 'I shall never forget you, or that I shall owe all my happiness to you. Andre and I will marry in the autumn. I shall make you G.o.dmother to our first child.'

M. Andre Fauvel kissed her on the cheek and fussed over her, advising her to take good care of herself on the return trip, and then with the true concern of a man whose business is with cash asked: 'You are sure now that you have your money to pay the duty in a safe place? You have it well hidden away, no? It is better you have it not in the purse where it might be s.n.a.t.c.hed.'

Mrs Harris grinned her wonderfully jagged and impish grin. Well fed for the first time in her life, rested, and happy, she looked younger by decades. She opened her new crocodile bag to show the air-ticket and pa.s.sport therein, with one single green pound note, a five hundred franc note, and a few left-over French coins to see her to the airport. 'That's the lot,' she said. 'But it's plenty to get me back to me duties. There's nuffink for no one to s.n.a.t.c.h.'

'Oh la la! But no!' cried M. Fauvel, his voice shaken by sudden anguish while a fearful silence fell upon the group in the salon as the shadow of impending disaster made itself felt. 'I mean the customs duty at the British douane douane. Mon Dieu! Have you not provided? At six shillings in the pound' - he made a swift calculation - 'that would be one hundred and fifty pounds. Did you not know you must pay this?'

Mrs Harris looked at him stunned - and aged twenty years. 'Gor,' she croaked, 'hundred and fifty quid. I couldn't raise a bob to me nyme! - 'Ow, why didn't somebody tell me? 'Ow was I to know?'

Mme Colbert reacted fiercely. 'La, what nonsense are you talking, Andre? Who pays duty any more to customs? You think those t.i.tled ladies and rich Americans do? All, all is smuggle, and you too, my little Ada, shall smuggle yours-'

The little blue eyes of Mrs Harris became filled with fear, alarm, suspicion. 'That would be telling a lie, wouldn't it?' she said, looking helplessly from one to the other - 'I don't mind telling a fib or two, but I don't tell lies. That would be bryking the law. I could go to jail for that.' Then as the true and ghastly import of what M. Fauvel said dawned upon her she quite suddenly sank down into the pile of the grey carpet, covered her face with her workworn hands and sent up a wail of despair that penetrated through the establishment so that the Great Patron Great Patron himself came running in. 'I can't 'ave it. It ain't for such as me. I should 'ave known me place. Tyke it away - give it away, do anything. I'll go 'ome and forget about it.' himself came running in. 'I can't 'ave it. It ain't for such as me. I should 'ave known me place. Tyke it away - give it away, do anything. I'll go 'ome and forget about it.'

The story of the dilemma ran like wildfire through the building. Experts appeared from all sides to give advice, including that there be a pet.i.tion directed to the British Amba.s.sador, until it was pointed out that so stern was the British regard for the law that not even the Amba.s.sador or the Queen herself could intervene to have them set aside, even in so worthy a cause- It was the Patron Patron himself, familiar with Mrs Harris's story who solved the dilemma, severing the Gordian knot with one swift, generous stroke - or thought he had. 'Reduce the price of the dress to this good woman,' he ordered accountant Fauvel, 'and give her the balance in cash to pay the duty.' himself, familiar with Mrs Harris's story who solved the dilemma, severing the Gordian knot with one swift, generous stroke - or thought he had. 'Reduce the price of the dress to this good woman,' he ordered accountant Fauvel, 'and give her the balance in cash to pay the duty.'

'But sir,' protested the horrified Fauvel, who now for the first time himself saw the trap into which his benefactress had fallen, 'it is impossible!'

They all stared at him as though he were a poisonous reptile. 'Do you not see? Madame had already unwittingly broken British law by exporting the one thousand four hundred dollars, illegally exchanged by her American friend in the United Kingdom. If now she, poor woman, appears at the British customs at the airport declaring a dress worth five hundred pounds and offered a further hundred and fifty pounds in cash to pay the duty, there would be inquiries how she, a British subject, had come by these monies: there would be a scandal-'

They continued to look at the unfortunate accountant as though he were a king cobra, but they also knew that he was right. 'Let me go 'ome and die,' wailed Mrs Harris.

Natasha was at her side, her arms about her. Voices rose in a babel of sympathy. Mme Colbert had an inspiration. 'Wait,' she cried, 'I have it.' She, too, dropped to her knees at Mrs Harris's side - 'My dear, will you listen to me? I can help you. I shall be lucky for you, as you have been for me-'

Mrs Harris removed her hands to reveal the face of an old and frightened Capucin monkey. 'I won't do nuffink dishonest - or tell no lies.'

'No, no. Trust me. You shall say nothing but the absolute truth. But you must do exactly how and what I say for, my dear, we ALL ALL wish you to have your beautiful dress to take home. Now listen.' And Mme Colbert, placing her lips close to Mrs Harris's monkey ear so that no one else might hear, whispered her instructions. wish you to have your beautiful dress to take home. Now listen.' And Mme Colbert, placing her lips close to Mrs Harris's monkey ear so that no one else might hear, whispered her instructions.

As she stood in the customs hall of London Airport, Mrs Harris felt sure that her thumping heart must be audible to all, yet by the time the pleasant-looking young customs officer reached her, her native-born courage and cheerfulness buoyed her up, and her naughty eyes were even twinkling with an odd kind of antic.i.p.atory pleasure.

On the counter before her rested, not the glamorous Dior box, but a large and well-worn plastic suitcase of the cheapest kind. The officer handed her a card on which was printed the list of dutiable articles purchased abroad.

'You read it to me, duckie,' Mrs Harris grinned impudently, 'I left me specs at 'ome.'

The inspector glanced at her sharply once to see whether he was being had; the pink rose on the green hat bobbed at him; he recognised the breed at once. 'Hullo,' he smiled. 'What have you you been doing over in Paris?' been doing over in Paris?'

' 'Aving a bit of a 'oliday on me own.'

The customs man grinned. This was a new one on him. The British char abroad. The mop and broom business must be good, he reflected, then inquired routinely: 'Bring anything back with you?'

Mrs Harris grinned at him. ' 'Aven't I just? A genuine Dior dress called "Temptytion" in me bag 'ere. Five 'undred quid it cost. 'Ow's that?'

The inspector laughed. It was not the first time he had encountered the London char's sense of humour. 'You'll be the belle of the ball with it, I'll wager,' he said, and made a mark with a piece of chalk on the side of the case. Then he sauntered off and presented his card to the next pa.s.senger whose luggage was ready.

Mrs Harris picked up her bag and walked - not ran, though it was a great effort not to bolt - to the exit and down the escalator to freedom. She was filled not only with a sense of relief, but righteousness as well. She had told the truth. If, as Mme Colbert had said, the customs officer chose not to believe her, that was not her fault.

THUS it was that at four o'clock in the afternoon of a lovely London spring day, the last obstacle hurdled, and with 'Temptation' safe and sound in her possession, Mrs Harris found herself standing outside Waterloo Air Station, home at last. And but one thing was troubling her conscience. It was the little matter of Miss Pamela Penrose, the actress, and her flat. it was that at four o'clock in the afternoon of a lovely London spring day, the last obstacle hurdled, and with 'Temptation' safe and sound in her possession, Mrs Harris found herself standing outside Waterloo Air Station, home at last. And but one thing was troubling her conscience. It was the little matter of Miss Pamela Penrose, the actress, and her flat.

Her other clients were all wealthy, but Miss Penrose was poor and struggling. What if Mrs b.u.t.terfield hadn't coped properly? It was yet early. The keys to the flat were in her new crocodile handbag, now emerged from the suitcase. Mrs Harris said to herself: 'Lord love the poor dear. It's early yet. Maybe she's got to entertyne some n.o.bs. I'll just drop by 'er flat and surprise 'er by tidying up a bit.' She caught the proper bus and shortly afterwards was in the mews, inserting her key in the door.

No sooner had she the street door open, when the sound of the girl's sobs reached to her, causing Mrs Harris to hurry up the stairs and into the tiny living room, where she came upon Miss Penrose lying face down upon her couch crying her eyes out.

Mrs Harris went to her, laid a sympathetic hand upon a shaking shoulder and said: 'Now, now, dearie, what's the matter? It can't be as bad as all that. If you're in trouble maybe I can help you.'

Miss Penrose sat up. 'YOU help me!' she repeated, looking through tear-swollen eyes. Then in a more kindly tone she said: 'Oh, it's you, Mrs Harris. n.o.body in the whole world could help me. Oh, I could die. If you must know, I've been invited to dine at the Caprice with Mr Korngold the producer. It's my one and only chance to impress him and get ahead. Nearly help me!' she repeated, looking through tear-swollen eyes. Then in a more kindly tone she said: 'Oh, it's you, Mrs Harris. n.o.body in the whole world could help me. Oh, I could die. If you must know, I've been invited to dine at the Caprice with Mr Korngold the producer. It's my one and only chance to impress him and get ahead. Nearly ALL ALL of Mr Korngold's girls - I mean friends - have become stars- ' of Mr Korngold's girls - I mean friends - have become stars- '

'Well, now I don't see anything to cry about there,' declared Mrs Harris. 'You ought to be a star, I'm sure.'

Miss Penrose's heartrending grief turned momentarily to rage: 'Oh, don't be STUPID STUPID!' she stormed. 'Don't you see? I can't go. I haven't anything to wear. My one good dress is at the cleaners and my other one has a stain. Mr Korngold is frightfully particular about what the girls he takes out wear.'

Could you, had you been Mrs Harris, with what she had in her plastic suitcase on the landing, have been able to resist the temptation to play fairy G.o.dmother? Particularly if you were still under the spell of the sweet gentleness and simplicity of Natasha, and the crusted kindness of Mme Colbert and all their people, and knew what it was like to want something dreadfully, something you did not think you were ever going to get?

Before Mrs Harris quite realised what she was saying, the words popped out - 'See 'ere. Maybe I can 'elp you after all. I could lend you me Dior dress.'

'Your WHAT WHAT? Oh, you - you odious creature. How DARE DARE you make fun of me?' Miss Penrose's small mouth was twisted and her eyes cloudy with rage. you make fun of me?' Miss Penrose's small mouth was twisted and her eyes cloudy with rage.

'But I ain't. 'Strewth, so 'elp me, I've just come back from Paris where I bought me a Dior dress. I'd let you wear it tonight if it would 'elp you with Mr Korngold.'

Somehow Miss Penrose, nee nee Snite, brought herself under control as some guardian instinct warned her that with these charwomen one never really knew what to expect. She said: 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean - but of course you couldn't - where is it?' Snite, brought herself under control as some guardian instinct warned her that with these charwomen one never really knew what to expect. She said: 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean - but of course you couldn't - where is it?'

' 'Ere,' said Mrs Harris, and opened the suitcase. The intense gasp of wonder and excitement and the joy that came into the girl's eyes made it worth the gesture. 'Oh - oh - oh!' she cried, 'I can't believe believe it.' In an instant she had the dress out of its tissue wrappings, holding it up, then hugging it to her she searched out the label with greedy fingers - 'Oh! It really it.' In an instant she had the dress out of its tissue wrappings, holding it up, then hugging it to her she searched out the label with greedy fingers - 'Oh! It really IS IS a Dior. May I try it on right away, Mrs Harris? We are about the same size, aren't we? Oh, I could die with excitement.' a Dior. May I try it on right away, Mrs Harris? We are about the same size, aren't we? Oh, I could die with excitement.'

In a moment she was stripping off her clothes, Mrs Harris was helping her into the dress, and a few minutes later it was again fulfilling the destiny for which it had been designed. With her lovely bare shoulders and blonde head rising from the chiffon and tulle, Miss Penrose was both Venus appearing from the sea and Miss Snite emerging from the bedclothes.

Mrs Harris and the girl gazed raptly at the image reflected from the full-length mirror in the closet door. The actress said: 'Oh, you are a dear to let me wear it. I'll be ever so careful. You don't KNOW KNOW what it means to me.' what it means to me.'

But Mrs Harris knew very well. And it seemed almost as though fate wished this beautiful creation to be worn and shown off and not hung away in a closet. This perhaps being so, she had a request: 'Would you mind very much if I came to the restaurant where you are 'aving dinner and stood outside to watch you go in? Of course, I wouldn't speak to you or anything- '

Miss Penrose said graciously: 'Of course I wouldn't mind. If you'll be standing at the right side of the door as I get out of Mr Korngold's Rolls-Royce, I can sort of turn to you so that you can see me better.'

'Oh,' said Mrs Harris. 'You are are kind, dearie.' And meant it. kind, dearie.' And meant it.

Miss Penrose kept her promise, or half of it, for a storm came up and suddenly it was a thundery, bl.u.s.tery, rain-swept night when at half-past nine Mr Korngold's Rolls-Royce drew up at the entrance to the Caprice. Mrs Harris was standing to the right of the door, somewhat protected from the rain by the canopy.

A rumble of thunder and a swooping wind accompanied the arrival; Miss Penrose paused for one instant, turning towards Mrs Harris, her head graciously inclined, her evening wrap parted. Then with a toss of her golden hair she ran swiftly into the doorway. Mrs Harris had had no more than a glimpse of jet beads beneath an evening wrap, a flash of foamy-pink, white, cream, chiffon, and tulle, and then it was over.

But she was quite happy and remained there a little longer, contented and lost in imaginings. For now the head waiter would be bowing low to her her dress and leading dress and leading IT IT to a favoured and conspicuous table. Every woman in the room would recognise it at once as one from Dior; all heads would be turning as the creation moved through the aisles of tables, the velvet skirt, heavy with jet beads swinging enticingly, while above, the sweet, young bosom, shoulders, arms, and pink and white face emerged from the lovely bodice. Mr Korngold would be pleased and proud and would surely decide to give so well dressed and beautiful a girl an important part in his next production. to a favoured and conspicuous table. Every woman in the room would recognise it at once as one from Dior; all heads would be turning as the creation moved through the aisles of tables, the velvet skirt, heavy with jet beads swinging enticingly, while above, the sweet, young bosom, shoulders, arms, and pink and white face emerged from the lovely bodice. Mr Korngold would be pleased and proud and would surely decide to give so well dressed and beautiful a girl an important part in his next production.

And no one there, not a single, solitary soul outside the girl herself would know that the exquisite gown which had done it all and had made every eye brighten with envy or admiration was the sole and exclusive property of Mrs Ada Harris, char, of Number 5 Willis Gardens, Battersea.

And thither she went now smiling to herself all the way during the long bus ride home. There remained only the problem of Mrs b.u.t.terfield, who would be anxiously awaiting her, to be dealt with. She would wish to see the dress, of course, and hear all about it. For some reason she could not fathom, Mrs Harris felt that she did not care for Mrs b.u.t.terfield to know that she had loaned her dress to the actress.

But by the time she had arrived at her destination she had the solution. A little fib and the fatigue that had collected in her bones would serve to put her off.

'Lor'!' she said from the depths of Mrs b.u.t.terfield's billowy bosom where she found herself enveloped, 'I'm that f.a.gged I've got to 'old me eyelids open with me fingers. It's so late, I won't even stay for a cup o' tea.'

'You poor dear,' sympathised Mrs b.u.t.terfield, 'I won't Keep you. You can show me the dress-'

It's coming tomorrow,' Mrs Harris demi-fibbed. 'I'll tell you all about it then.'

Once more in her own bed, she gave herself up to the sweet, delicious sense of accomplishment and with not so much as a single foreboding as to what the morrow might bring was soon fast asleep.

THE hour that Mrs Harris devoted to Miss Penrose was from five to six, and all the next day, as she worked in the various homes and made her peace with her clients who were too happy to see her back to grouse about her prolonged absence, she lived in tingling antic.i.p.ation of that moment. At last it came and she hurried to the little flat that had once been a stable behind the great house in the square and opening the door stood for a moment at the foot of the narrow staircase. hour that Mrs Harris devoted to Miss Penrose was from five to six, and all the next day, as she worked in the various homes and made her peace with her clients who were too happy to see her back to grouse about her prolonged absence, she lived in tingling antic.i.p.ation of that moment. At last it came and she hurried to the little flat that had once been a stable behind the great house in the square and opening the door stood for a moment at the foot of the narrow staircase.

At first it was only disappointment that she experienced for the place was dark and silent. Mrs Harris would have liked to have heard from the girl's own lips the story of the triumph scored by the Dior dress and its effect upon Mr Korngold.

But it was the strange, unfamiliar smell that a.s.sailed her nostrils that turned her cold with alarm and set the skin of her scalp to p.r.i.c.king with terror. And yet, on second thought the smell was not not unfamiliar. Why did it awaken memories of the war she had lived through in London - the rain of high explosives and the deluge of fire- ? unfamiliar. Why did it awaken memories of the war she had lived through in London - the rain of high explosives and the deluge of fire- ?

At the top of the stairs, Mrs Harris turned on the lights in the vestibule and the living room and went in. The next instant she was staring down, frozen with horror at the ruins of her dress. And then she knew what the odour was that had a.s.sailed her nostrils and made her think of the nights when the incendiaries had poured down upon London.

The Dior dress had been tossed carelessly upon the disordered couch with the burned-out velvet panel where the fire had eaten into it showing shockingly in a fearful gap of melted beadwork, burned and singed cloth.

Beside it lay a pound and a hastily scrawled note. Mrs Harris's fingers were trembling so that she could hardly read it at first, but at last its contents became clear.

Dear Mrs Harris, I am terribly sorry I could not stay to explain in person, but I have to go away for a little while. I am most awfully sorry about what happened to the dress, but it wasn't my fault and if Mr Korngold had not been so quick I might have burned to death. He said I had a very narrow escape. After dinner we went to the '30' Club where I stopped to comb my hair in front of a mirror and there was an electric fire right underneath, and all of a sudden I was burning - I mean the dress, and I could have burned to death. I am sure they will be able to repair it and your insurance will take care of the damage, which is not as bad as it looks as it is only the one panel. I am going away for the week. Please look after the flat as usual. I am leaving a pound for your wages in the meantime.

It was astonishing that when Mrs Harris had finished reading the letter she did not cry out, or even murmur, or say anything at all. Instead she took up the damaged garment and, folding it carefully, packed it once more into the old plastic suitcase Mme Colbert had given her and which she retrieved from the closet where she had stowed it the night before. She left the letter and the money lying on the couch, went downstairs and into the street.

When she had closed the outside door, she paused only long enough to remove the key to the flat from her chain, since she would not be needing it any more, and push it through the slot of the letter box. Then she walked the five minutes to Sloane Square where she caught a bus for home.

It was damp and chilly in her flat. She put the kettle on for tea and then, guided by habit, she did all of the things she was used to doing, even to eating, though she hardly knew what food she tasted. She washed up the dishes and put everything away. But there the mechanism ended and she turned to the unpacking of the ruins of the Dior dress.

She fingered the charred edges of the velvet and the burned and melted jet. She knew night clubs, for she had cleaned in them. She thought she could see it happening - the girl, half-drunk, coming down the stairs from without, on the arm of her escort, thoughtless, heedless of all but that which concerned herself, pausing before the first mirror to study herself and apply a comb.

Then the sudden ascent of smoke from her feet, the little shriek of fright, perhaps an orange line of fire in the dress and the man beating at it with his hands until it was extinguished and only the smouldering wreck of the most beautiful and expensive frock in the world remained.

And here it was in her hands now, still with the stink of charred cloth rising from it and which all the perfume given to her by Natasha would not suffice to blot out. A thing, once as perfect and beautiful as human hands could make it, was destroyed.

She tried to tell herself that it was not the fault of the girl, that it had been an accident and that only she herself was to blame for trying to play fairy G.o.dmother to this spoiled brat of a bad actress who had not even the grace to be grateful to her for her foolish gesture.

Mrs Harris was a sensible person, a realist who had lived an unexciting life and was not given to self-delusion. Looking now upon this singed and tragic wreck of her desires she was well aware of her own foolish pride and vanity, not only involved in the possession of such a treasure, but in the displaying of it.