So she went off to dress for dinner, full of visions of bright pinks and blues and laces and ribbons that would have made Halcyone shrink if she had known.
Mabel was magnificently patronizing and talked a jargon of fashionable slang which Halcyone hardly understood.

Some transient gleam of her beloved mother kept suggesting itself to her when Mabel smiled.

The memory was not distinct enough for her to know what it was, but it hurt her.

The big, bouncing, overdeveloped girl had so little of the personality which she had treasured all these years as of her mother--treasured even more than remembered.
Ethel had no faintest look of La Sarthe, and was a nice, jolly, ordinary young person--dear to her father's heart.
At last they left Halcyone alone with Priscilla, and presently the two threw themselves into each other's arms--for the old nurse was crying bitterly now, rocking herself to and fro.
"Ah! how it all comes back to me, my lamb," she sobbed.

"He's just the same, only older.