So a stone man might have stood! Till very slowly he limped on, passing out of sight.

And turning from the window, Nedda began hurrying into her evening things.
When she was ready she took a long time to decide whether to wear her mother's lace or keep it for the Bigwigs.

But it was so nice and creamy that she simply could not take it off, and stood turning and turning before the glass.

To stand before a glass was silly and old-fashioned; but Nedda could never help it, wanting so badly to be nicer to look at than she was, because of that something that some day was coming! She was, in fact, pretty, but not merely pretty--there was in her face something alive and sweet, something clear and swift.

She had still that way of a child raising its eyes very quickly and looking straight at you with an eager innocence that hides everything by its very wonder; and when those eyes looked down they seemed closed--their dark lashes were so long.