She with her brains, vitality, beauty, and charm had been
growing in these graces unawares, flowering in secret at Wanless under her
aprons, behind her account-books and garden gloves. Now that all these
swaddling bands were stripped off her, behold her, armed at all points for
the lists. So Chevenix had beheld her, it seems. Let her see the world,
approve her mettle, run her career. Chevenix, watching her, judged in
those pondering eyes, in that half-smile which had charmed him before, a
kind of quivering expectancy new to her. He judged her tempted, and
renewed his suggestions on a later day.
"What you want," he then told her, "is to try a fall or two with the
world. You've been too snug, you know--too long under glass. You left the
school-room to go to Wanless--and where were you there? Under cover. You
want the sun, the wind, and the rain; you want to know what these things
feel like--and how the rest of us take 'em. And you want to be seen, if
you let me say that. We all like being looked at, I believe. I know that I
do, when I'm quite sure about my hat. Now you won't get much of that in a
Warwick Street two-pair front, let me tell you--no, nor in your B 17, or
whatever your seat is, at the Museum.
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