and between the courses one of these two would repeat the gossip of a
caller or criticize the cut of her dress.

No, the conversation was not much better than that of the boarding-
house, but the accents were different. Caroline would throw out a
French phrase, and Henrietta, loving the present, wondering how she
had borne the past, could yet feel fiercely that life was not fair.
She herself was not fair: she was giving her allegiance to the outside
of things and finding in them more pleasure than in heroism, endurance
and compassion, and she said to herself, 'Yes, I'm just like my
father. I see too much with my eyes.' A little fear, which had its own
delight, took hold of her. How far would that likeness carry her? What
dangerous qualities had he passed on to her with his looks?

She sat there, vividly conscious of herself, and sometimes she saw the
whole room as a picture and she was part of it; sometimes she saw only
those three whose lives, she felt, were practically over, for even
Aunt Rose was comparatively old. She pitied them because their romance
was past, while hers waited for her outside; she wondered at their
happiness, their interest in their appearance, their pleasure in
parties; but she felt most sorry for Aunt Rose, midway between what
should have been the resignation of her stepsisters and the glowing
anticipation of her niece. Yet Aunt Rose hardly invited sympathy of
any kind and the smile always lurking near her lips gave Henrietta a
feeling of discomfort, a suspicion that Aunt Rose was not only
ironically aware of what Henrietta wished to conceal, but endowed with
a fund of wisdom and a supply of worldly knowledge.

She continued to feel uncertain about Aunt Rose. She was always
charming to Henrietta, but it was impossible to be quite at ease with