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