It threw everything up to her.

If she had owned to a little fear of it before, it affected her now with positive terror.

The thing was young, much too young; and it was brutal and violent in its youth.

It was possessed by a perfect demon of juvenility; it clashed and fought with every object in the room; it made them all look old, ever so old, and shabby.

And as Miss Quincey stood with it before the looking glass, it flared up and told her to her face that she was forty-five--forty-five, and looked fifty.
"Louisa," murmured the Old Lady, "was the only one of our family who could stand pink." "I will give it to Louisa," cried Miss Quincey with a touch of passion.
"Tchee--tchee!" At that idea the Old Lady chuckled in supreme derision.
"Capers and nonsense! Louisa indeed! Much good it'll do Louisa when you've been and nipped all the shape out of it to suit yourself.