The Becks as a 187 family didn’t talk or ruminate over Mike’s or Lucy’s past much. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. ‘Come, cry a truce. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. You were very good. I want to hear how she does it. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets.
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