Drearily she looked round the room. It would all be the same; nothing
would change; the very roses on her dressing-table would still be fresh
and sweet, and--she?
Raising her head, she met her own eyes in a glass, and started. Her own
beauty amazed her. "If he could see me now," she said aloud, "he
couldn't call me '_petite fille_.' He doesn't know I _am_ a woman; he
has seen me--as if through spectacles. If I had never known Theo, and
then met him somewhere by chance----"
She recalled his frank, wondering amazement as she raised her veil that
evening in the train.
"He sees me always with Theo's shadow between us. It is--unfair--and----"
She took a fresh sheet of paper and began her letter again:
"Dear Duchess.--Thanks so much for asking me to dine to-night.
I shall be delighted to come.
Yours sincerely. "Brigit Mead."
Then she rang for the housemaid, who would in the absence of her half
of Amelie have to help her dress, and gave her certain directions.
To-morrow might bring what it would. That one evening was hers, and she
would use it. Joyselle should see her with his own eyes, as a man sees a
woman, not as a father sees a daughter.
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