And even more difficult would it have
been to trace a resemblance between Mrs. Strange and the blond,
bushy-headed "Mlle. Le Garde" of the posters. Nevertheless, the
likenesses at one time had been considered not too flattering, and
Phil treasured them as evidences of imperishable distinction.
But the Stranges had tired of public life. For a long time the
wife had confessed to a lack of interest in her vocation which
amounted almost to a repugnance. Snake-charming, she had
discovered, was far from an ideal profession for a woman of
refinement. It possessed unpleasant features, and even such
euphemistic titles as "Serpent Enchantress" and "Reptilian
Mesmerist" failed to rob the calling of a certain odium, a
suggestion of vulgarity in the minds of the more discriminating.
This had become so distressing to Mrs. Strange's finer
sensibilities that she had voiced a yearning to forsake the
platform and pit for something more congenial, and finally she had
prevailed upon Phil to make a change.
The step had not been taken without misgivings, but a benign
Providence had watched over the pair. Mrs. Strange was a natural
seamstress, and luck had directed her and Phil to a community
which was not only in need of a good dressmaker, but peculiarly
ripe for the talents of a soothsayer.
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