She shed her joy as if it were fragrance; and her softness was like the magnolia-scented softness of the June night.

Even her mother would not have known her, so greatly had she changed in a minute.

Of the businesslike figure in the sailor hat and trim shirtwaist--of the Gabriella who had said, "I can manage my life"-- there remained only an outline.

The very feet of the capable woman had changed into the shrinking and timid feet of a lovesick girl.
She was afraid to go forward, afraid to move, afraid to breathe lest she break the wonderful spell of the magic.

Not only her basic common sense, but the very soul that shaped her body had become as light, as sweet, as formless as liquid honey.
But of course, she knew nothing of this.