“She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy.”

“She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy.”

“Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him the other night at the opera." She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes. She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church.”

“I only look at her as a mother, and she doesn't succeed in being that to me.”

“Not that she was striking; not beautiful at all; there was nothing picturesque about her; she never said anything specially clever; there she was, however; there she was.”

“But the most important thing of all, to which she kept returning like a tongue probing a sore tooth, was the realization that she had fallen in love with her gaurdian.”