The air, the garden, the victoria, the turbot and the
whitebait, these were all that had been vaunted, and even to the modesty
of the Simpsons it was evident that the intimacy they offered their
guest should count for something. There were other friends, too, young
friends who tried to teach her to play tennis, robust and silent young
persons who threw shy, flushed glances at her in the pauses of the
games, and wished supremely, without daring to hint it, that she would
let fall some word about her wonderful romance--a hope ever renewed,
ever to be disappointed. And physically Laura expanded before their
eyes. The colour that came into her cheek gave her the look of a person
painted by Bouguereau. That artist would have found in her a model whom
he could have represented with sincerity. Yet something was missing to
her, her friends were dimly aware. Her desirable surroundings kindled
her to but a perfunctory interest in life: the electric spark was
absent. Mrs. Simpson relied strategically upon the wedding preparations
and hurried them on, announcing in May that it was quite time to think
about various garments of which the fashion is permanent, but the issue
was blank.
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