Every time she looked she seemed to herself more beautiful, and there was something good and touching in this estimation of herself, for she seemed to see herself with her lover's eyes as well as her own.
Finally she sat down in Miss Farrel's rocker; she crossed her knees and viewed with delight the fleecy fall of lace to the floor.

Then she fell to dreaming, and her dreams were good.

In that gown of fashion she dreamed the dreams of the life to which the women of her race were born.

She dreamed of her good housewifery; she dreamed of the butter she would make; she dreamed of her husband coming home to meals all ready and well cooked.

She dreamed, underneath the other dreams, of children coming home.