To her fond eyes Grace looked absurdly immature in her simple frock of white dotted swiss.

She was secretly glad that Overton, rather than marriage, had claimed her alert, self-reliant daughter for another year.

Like every other mother she wished some day to see Grace happily settled in a home of her own, but she preferred to think of that someday as being still far distant.
Grace took out of her bag a guest towel she was embroidering.

It was the last of the half dozen towels she had worked for Jessica's hope chest.
She was not fond of needlework.

She preferred to spend her spare time playing golf and tennis, or riding and walking.