There was, it might be said, a double illumination. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. Mesdames Thierry and Poussaint appeared delighted to meet Gerald, and he was obliged to do the pretty to their daughters too. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. She looked around the apartment for other people.
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