Sylvia herself had looked with pleased wonder at her face in the glass; it was as if all her youthful beauty had suddenly come up, like a withered rose which is dipped in a vase.
"I sha'n't look so terrible old side of him when I go out bride," she reflected, happily, smiling fondly at herself.

All the way to meeting that Sunday morning she saw her face as she had seen it in the glass, and it was as if she walked with something finer than herself.
Richard Alger sat with the choir in a pew beside the pulpit, at right angles with the others.

He had a fine tenor voice, and had sung in the choir ever since he was a boy.

When Sylvia sat down in her place, which was in full range of his eyes, he glanced at her without turning his head; he meant to look away again directly, so as not to be observed, but her face held him.

A color slowly flamed out on his pale brown cheeks; his eyes became intense and abstracted.