innocently upon the fact. The young doctor, although his first
impression of the elder woman was still upon him, yet realized the
charm of the young girl. The older woman was, as it were, crowned with
an aureole of perfection, but the young girl was crowned with
possibilities which dazzled with mystery. She looked prettier, now that
her outer garments were removed, and her thick crown of ash-blonde hair
was revealed. The lamp lit her eyes into bluer flame. She was a darling
of a young girl, and more a darling because she had the sweetest
confidence in everybody thinking her one.

However, James Elliot, sitting in the well-appointed dining-room, which
was more like a city house than a little New Jersey dwelling, did not
for a second retreat from his first impression of Mrs. Ewing. Behind the
coffee-urn sat the woman with whom he had not fallen in love, that was
too poor a term to use. He had become a worshipper. He felt himself,
body and soul, prostrate before the Divinity of Womanhood itself. He
realized the grandeur of the abstract in the individual. What was any
spoiled, sweet young girl to that? And Mrs. Ewing was, in truth, a
wonderful creature. She was a large woman with a great quantity of
blue-black hair, which had the ripples one sees in antique statues. Her
eyes, black at first glance, were in reality dark blue. Her face gave
one a never-ending surprise. James had not known that a woman could be
so beautiful. Vague comparisons with the Greek Helen, or Cleopatra, came
into his head. Now and then he stole a glance at her. He dared not
often. She did not talk much, but he was rather pleased with that fact,
although her voice was so sweet and gracious. Speech in a creature like
that was not an essential. It might even be an excrescence upon a
perfection. It did not occur to the dazed mind of her worshipper that
Mrs. Ewing might have very simple and ordinary reasons for not
talking--that she might be tired or ill, or preoccupied. But after a