Still, Jim had to admit that Kedzie was pretty. Suddenly he wanted
to torment Charity, and so he exclaimed:
"You're right, she is a little corker, a very pleasant dream!" Anger
at Charity snatched away the blindfold which is another name for
fidelity. Scales fell from his eyes, and he saw truth in nakedness.
He saw beauty everywhere. All about him were beautiful women in rich
costume. He saw that beauty is not a matter of opinion, a decision
of love's, but a happening to be regular or curvilinear or warm of
color or hospitable in expression.
Particularly he saw the beauty of Kedzie. There was more of her
to see than of those other women behind their screens of silk and
lace and linen. His infatuation for Charity Coe had befuddled him,
wrapped him in a fog through which all other women passed like
swaddled figures. He felt free now.
Over Charity's shoulder and through the spray of the goura on
her hat he saw Kedzie sharp and stark, her suavities of line and
the milk-smooth fabric of her envelope. He studied Kedzie with
emancipation, not seeing Charity at all any more--nor she him.
For Charity studied Kedzie, too. She felt academically the delight
of the girl's beauty, a statue coming to life, or a living being
going back into statue--Galatea in one phase or the other. She felt
the delight of the girl's successful drawing. She smiled to behold
it. Then her smile drooped, for the words of the old song came back
crooning the ancient regret:
How small a part of time they share--
There was elegy now in Kedzie's graces.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137