But her own character had been rapidly maturing of late, and her insight sharpening.

During these recent weeks of close contact, her mother's singularity had risen in her mind to the dignity at least of a problem, an enigma.
Presently Mrs.Boyce rose and put the scones down by the fire.
"Your father will be in, I suppose.

Yes, I hear the front door." As she spoke she took off her velvet cloak, put it carefully aside on a sofa, and sat down again, still in her bonnet, at the tea-table.

Her dress was very different from Marcella's, which, when they were not in mourning, was in general of the ample "aesthetic" type, and gave her a good deal of trouble out of doors.

Marcella wore "art serges" and velveteens; Mrs.Boyce attired herself in soft and costly silks, generally black, closely and fashionably made, and completed by various fanciful and distinguished trifles--rings, an old chatelaine, a diamond brooch--which Marcella remembered, the same, and worn in the same way, since her childhood.