It seemed so soft and yet so strong.
"She can do anything with him she likes.

When I marry somebody how will it be ?" Upon the living-room mantel was a photograph of Amy.

And on the smooth and pretty face with the lips slightly parting, and in the smiling violet eyes, there was the expression of something which Ethel did not quite name to herself--for she had forgotten the night long ago in her high-school club when they had sturdily tackled the word "sensual" and what it meant.

But the picture grew familiar and real, filled in by the living presence here of this woman who so carefully tended her beautiful body, her glossy hair, her cheeks and lips; this sister with so many moods, now intent and watchful, now good-humoured, indolent, now expectant, hungry, now smilingly content and gay.
And as the picture grew more real, warm and close and thrilling, it symbolized for Ethel that mysterious force which she could feel on every side, driving the throngs of humanity--in this city where so many things she had once deemed important were fading rapidly away.

That hungry hope of a singer's career, that craving for work and self-education, trips to Paris, London, Rome, books, art and clever people, "salons," brilliant discussions of life; and deeper still, those mysterious dreams about having children and making a home--all began to drop behind, so quietly and easily that she barely noticed the change.
For this was happening in a few weeks, in the first whirl and excitement of those dazzling streets and shops, those models, gowns, hats, gloves and shoes.