they seem. They even manage somehow to be fairly attractive to young
men. They are living marvels, and I take off my toque to them. But Lady
Sellingworth, quite old, ravaged, devastated by time one might say, who
goes nowhere and who doesn't even play bridge--she beats them all. I
love her. I love her wrinkled distinction, her husky voice, her careless
walk. She walks anyhow, like a woman alone on a country road. She looks
even older than she is. But what does it matter? If I were a man--"

"Would you fall in love with her?" Craven interposed.

"Oh, no!"

She shot a blue glance at him.

"But I should love her--if only she would let me. But she wouldn't. I
feel that."

"I never saw her till to-day. She charmed me."

"Of course. But she didn't try to."

"Probably not."

"That's it! She doesn't try, and that's partly why she succeeds, being
as God has made her. Do you know that some people hate her?"

"Impossible!"

"They do."