There was no trace of her old coldness and reserve, no shadow of her old bitterness.

The girlhood of which she had been cheated seemed to come back to her with the ripeness of womanhood; she expanded like a flower of flame and perfume; no laugh was readier than hers, no wit quicker, in the twilight circles of that enchanted summer.

When she could not be with them all felt that some exquisite savor was lacking in their intercourse.

Her beauty was illumined by the awakened soul within, as some rosy lamp might shine through a flawless vase of alabaster.

There were hours when Anne's eyes seemed to ache with the splendor of her.