"How practical you are!" he teased, "full of forethought and arrière
pensées. Isn't the moment the capture of the divine?"

She sighed a little--wise with the wisdom of frustrated dreams, and she
thought how happy he was--happy with the happiness of iridescent,
ever-changing whimsies.

"Virginia, does that young man love you?"

"Which one?"

"The one in spectacles."

"I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

"One can never be sure."

"Of course if he doesn't, it proves that I am right in saying that
spectacles are fatal. They prevent people from using either their eyes
or their imagination. Shall I go up to him and ask him?"

"He would answer: 'I don't understand.'"

"And I would explain: 'Virginia is the only lady in orange,' and he
would look at you for a moment or two and, holding out his hand in an
ecstasy of gratitude, he would say: 'Thank you. Yes, I love her.'"