she confided in no one. She would have been at a loss to put her
complicated sensations and thoughts into words. Mr. Moses Feldt, the
only one to whom she could possibly talk intimately, would be upset
by her feelings. He would give her a hug and the next day bring up a
new present from his pocket.

Her clothes, with the entire support of Lorice, were all delicate in
fabric, mostly white with black sashes, and plainly ruffled. She
detested the gray crepe de Chine from which Judith's undergarments
were made and the colored embroidery of Pansy's; while she ignored
scented toilet-waters and extracts. Markue, in finally asking her to
a party at his rooms, said that there she would resemble an Athenian
marble, of the un-painted epoch, in the ballet of Scheherazade.




XIII


"There's nothing special to say about Markue's parties," Judith,
dressing, told Linda. "You will simply have to take what comes your
way. There is always some one serious at them, if you insist, as
usual, on dignity." She stood slim and seductive, like a perverse
pierrot, before the oppressive depths of a black mirror. Linda had
finished her preparations for the evening. There was no departure
from her customary blanched exactness. She studied her reflection
across Judith's shoulder; her intense blue eyes, under the level
blot of her bang, were grave on the delicate pallor of her face.