"
At this moment Eric rushed up. "Say, Mann," he cried, "here they come.
They have taken the balcony just opposite, after all. And Miss Hopkins
looks perfectly in a white veil. And oh! here are the rest of our own
party."
Mae lifted her eyes to the opposite side of the street, but they did not
fall to the level of the Hopkins-Rae party, being stopped by something
above. At a high, fourth-story window, beyond the circle of flying fun
and frolic, confetti and flowers, Mae saw a wonderful woman's face, a
face with great dark eyes and raven hair. A heavily-figured white lace
veil was pulled low over her brow, and fell in folds against her cheeks.
Her skin was white, the scarlet of her face concentrating in her lips.
There was a strange consonance between the creamy heavy lace and its
flowing intertwined figures, and the face it encircled. A mystery, a
grace, a subtle charm, that had the effect of a vivid dream, in its
combination of clearness and unreality. There was life, with smothered
passion and pride and pain in it, Mae was sure.
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