It seemed to her that she was clothed again.

She looked back on what had passed.

All would have been right if she had not blushed, a silly fool! There was nothing to blush at, if she _had_ taken a sugar-bool.

Mrs.MacTaggart, the elder's wife in St.Enoch's, took them often.

And if he had looked at her, what was more natural than that a young gentleman should look at the best-dressed girl in church?
And at the same time, she knew far otherwise, she knew there was nothing casual or ordinary in the look, and valued herself on its memory like a decoration.