She
went so far as to ask herself why one should have a quarrel with it; the
relations of men and women, in that picturesque grouping, had not the
air of being internecine. In short, she had an interval of unexpected
rest, during which she kept her eyes mainly on Verena, who sat near Mrs.
Burrage, letting herself go, evidently, more completely than Olive. To
her, too, music was a delight, and her listening face turned itself to
different parts of the room, unconsciously, while her eyes vaguely
rested on the _bibelots_ that emerged into the firelight. At moments
Mrs. Burrage bent her countenance upon her and smiled, at random,
kindly; and then Verena smiled back, while her expression seemed to say
that, oh yes, she was giving up everything, all principles, all
projects. Even before it was time to go, Olive felt that they were both
(Verena and she) quite demoralised, and she only summoned energy to take
her companion away when she heard Mrs. Burrage propose to her to come
and spend a fortnight in New York. Then Olive exclaimed to herself, "Is
it a plot? Why in the world can't they let her alone?" and prepared to
throw a fold of her mantle, as she had done before, over her young
friend.
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