"Only a careful eye could tell," Mrs. Waterson continued, leaning a little closer and lowering her voice confidentially, "but the whole bodice had been taken apart and restitched with the fabric going crosswise. Much more flattering." She nodded. "And her use of colors. It is more than just a flair, you know, in her it is a positive art. Nothing is too much trouble if it will produce beauty."

She was watching him intently, completely oblivious of a couple so close the woman's skirts touched her own, and who seemed to be having a fierce but almost silent quarrel. "You know I have heard it said," she told him earnestly, "that the skill in always appearing beautiful is not so much a matter of the features you are born with, or even of disguising those which are less than the best, but in drawing the onlooker's eye to those which are exceptional. And the others are barely noticed." There was triumph in her face. "Never apologize or appear to be ashamed or attempting to conceal." She raised her chin. "Walk with pride, smile, dare the world to accept you on your own terms. Believe yourself beautiful, and then others will also. That takes a great deal of courage, Mr. Monk, and a formidable strength of will."

"Indeed it does," he agreed, wishing she would proceed to something which might conceivably be relevant to Rathbone's case. "Invaluable advice for a mother to pass on to her daughter."

"Oh, I am sure she did," Mrs. Waterson said with a little lift of her shoulder. "Miss Lambert is quite lovely, and was never permitted to be anything less. The minutest details were given the utmost attention. Of course, nature assisted her beautifully!"

They were playing a waltz again. Could they dance and then return to the subject? No, of course not. It would be forgotten, become forced. He might even lose her altogether. Damn Rathbone!

It was time for a little more judicious flattery. One could not expect a woman to spend above an hour praising another woman.

"Fine features are very well," he said casually, as if it were merely a passing thought. "But without intelligence they very soon become tedious. I could listen all evening to a woman with the gifts of intelligence and expression. I could not look at one woman all evening, no matter how lovely her face."

"You have remarkable perception and sensitivity, Mr. Monk," she responded, her cheeks pink with pleasure. "I am afraid there are very few men with such finely developed values."

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you think so, Mrs. Waterson? How kind of you to say so. I don't think anyone has ever told me such a thing before." He looked suitably satisfied. He refused to think what Hester would have said of him for such playacting. The only thing that mattered was learning something that would help Rathbone's case. And so far he had singly failed in that.