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----- {{wotdjp165.jpg}} || wings of the dove ||


of the women, the sound of words, especially of
names, across the table, the shape of the forks, the
arrangement of the flowers, the attitude of the ser
vants, the walls of the room, were all touches in a
picture and denotements in a play; and they marked
for her, moreover, her alertness of vision. She had
never, she might well believe, been in such a state
of vibration; her sensibility was almost too sharp
for her comfort: there were, for example, more in
dications than she could reduce to order in the man
ner of the friendly niece, who struck her as distin
guished and interesting, as in fact surprisingly
genial. This young woman's type had, visibly,
other possibilities; yet here, of its own free move
ment, it had already sketched a relation. Were
they, Miss Croy and she, to take up the tale where
their two elders had left it off so many years before?
were they to find they liked each other and to
try for themselves if a scheme of constancy on more
modern lines could be worked? She had doubted,
as they came to England, of Maud Manningham,
had believed her a broken reed and a vague re
source, had seen their dependence on her as a state
of mind that would have been shamefully silly so
far as it was dependence had they wished to do
any thing so inane as " get into society." To have
made their pilgrimage all for the sake of such soci
ety as Mrs. Lowder might have in reserve for them
that didn't bear thinking of at all, and she herself
had quite chosen her course for curiosity about


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