In those days she had not
cared what Lady Maulevrier or any one else might say of her, or think of
her. She lived her life, and defied fortune. She was worse than her
reputation. To-day she felt it a bitter thing that she had grown to the
age of womanhood lacking all those graces and accomplishments which made
her sister adorable, and which might make even a plain woman charming.
Never till John Hammond's coming had she felt a pang of envy in the
contemplation of Lesbia's beauty or Lesbia's grace; but now she had so
keen a sense of the difference between herself and her sister that she
began to fear that this cruel pain must indeed be that lowest of all
vices. Even the difference in their gowns was a source of humiliation to
her how. Lesbia was looking her loveliest this morning, in a gown that
was all lace and soft Madras muslin, flowing, cloud-like; while Mary's
tailor gown, with its trim tight bodice, horn buttons, and kilted skirt,
seemed to cry aloud that it had been made for a Tomboy. And this tailor
gown was a costume to which Mary had condemned herself by her own folly.
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