As Ian Stafford looked at her now, he kept saying to himself, "So
exquisite and so clever, what will she not be at thirty! So well
poised, and yet so sweetly child-like dear dresden-china Jasmine."

That was what she looked like--a lovely thing of the time of Boucher
in dresden china.

At last, as though conscious of what was going on in his mind, she
slowly turned her drooping eyes towards him, and, over her shoulder,
as he quickly leaned forward, she said in a low voice which the others
could not hear:

"I am too young, and not clever enough to understand all the music
means--is that what you are thinking?"

He shook his head in negation, and his dark-brown eyes commanded hers,
but still deferentially, as he said: "You know of what I was
thinking. You will be forever young, but yours was always--will always
be--the wisdom of the wise. I'd like to have been as clever at
twenty-two."

"How trying that you should know my age so exactly--it darkens the
future," she rejoined with a soft little laugh; then, suddenly, a
cloud passed over her face. It weighed down her eyelids, and she gazed
before her into space with a strange, perplexed, and timorous
anxiety. What did she see? Nothing that was light and joyous, for her
small sensuous lips drew closer, and the fan she held in her lap
slipped from her fingers to the floor.