She could not sing like Leila MacDonald and Mrs.Arthur Wells.

She could not play like Mrs.Jack Evarts.

She could not recite like Sally Anderson.
Mrs.Snyder glanced across at Alice, who looked very graceful and handsome, although also, to a discerning eye, a little sulky, and bored with a curious, abstracted boredom.
"She is superb," whispered Mrs.Snyder, "yes, simply superb.

Why does she live here, pray ?" "Why, she was born here," replied Mrs.Slade, again stupidly.

It was as if Alice had no more motive power than a flowering bush.
Mrs.Snyder's bow of mirth widened into a laugh.