however, she could yield without afterthought to the joy of dramatizing
her beauty. Within a few days she would be enacting the scene she was
now mimicking; and it amused her to see in advance just what impression
she would produce on Mrs. Fairford's guests.

For a while she carried on her chat with an imaginary circle of
admirers, twisting this way and that, fanning, fidgeting, twitching at
her draperies, as she did in real life when people were noticing her.
Her incessant movements were not the result of shyness: she thought it
the correct thing to be animated in society, and noise and restlessness
were her only notion of vivacity. She therefore watched herself
approvingly, admiring the light on her hair, the flash of teeth between
her smiling lips, the pure shadows of her throat and shoulders as she
passed from one attitude to another. Only one fact disturbed her: there
was a hint of too much fulness in the curves of her neck and in the
spring of her hips. She was tall enough to carry off a little extra
weight, but excessive slimness was the fashion, and she shuddered at the
thought that she might some day deviate from the perpendicular.

Presently she ceased to twist and sparkle at her image, and sinking into
her chair gave herself up to retrospection. She was vexed, in looking
back, to think how little notice she had taken of young Marvell, who
turned out to be so much less negligible than his brilliant friend. She
remembered thinking him rather shy, less accustomed to society; and
though in his quiet deprecating way he had said one or two droll things
he lacked Mr. Popple's masterly manner, his domineering yet caressing
address. When Mr. Popple had fixed his black eyes on Undine, and
murmured something "artistic" about the colour of her hair, she had
thrilled to the depths of her being. Even now it seemed incredible that
he should not turn out to be more distinguished than young Marvell: he