Theresa's lips curved in a small, superior smile. Did she not know?
"You needn't look like that," said Grace sharply. "You'll know some day."
"Married people," said Theresa, "do nothing but prophesy their own feelings for other people. Bless you, I don't want to feel as you do. It would be like—like feeding me on grass."
"I suppose there's meant to be an insult there," said Grace placidly, "but I don't understand it."
"No, it was only an unsuccessful simile. One can't always hit the nail exactly on the head. I like that way of doing your hair."
Grace scanned herself in the glass. "Yes. Phil made it up."
"Good Heavens! He ought to be a hairdresser!" She could not imagine Alexander concerning himself with such trivialities.
"He could only be that if he were in love with all his customers," said Grace, preening herself delicately and feeling that the last word was hers.
"The source of all inspiration! Oh me! Where's mine?"
"Your what?" Grace had been executing an intricate step, and now she stood on tiptoe, poised like a dragonfly.