Her defences crumbled so utterly that Hilda felt
guilty of using absurdly heavy artillery. They sat together for a moment
or two in silence with only that supervening sense of successful
aggression between them, and the humiliation was Hilda's. Presently it
grew heavy, embarrassing. Alicia got up and began a slow, restless
pacing up and down before the alcove they sat in. Hilda watched her--it
was a rhythmic progress--and when she came near with a sound of brushing
silk and a faint fragrance which seemed a personal emanation, drew a
long breath, as if she were an essence to be inhaled, and so, in a
manner, obtained, assimilated.
"Oh, yes," Miss Livingstone said, rehabilitating herself with a smile,
"I must keep you. I'll do anything you like to make myself more--worth
while. I'll read for the pure idea. I think I'll take up modelling.
There's rather a good man here just now."
"Yes," Hilda assented. "Read for the pure idea--take up modelling. It is
most expedient, especially if you marry. Women who like those things
sometimes have geniuses for sons. But for me, so far as I count--oh, my
dear, do nothing more. You are already an achieved effect--a
consummation of the exquisite in every way.
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