"And start a new life," Angelica told her.
"I’ll need to!" said Mrs. Kennedy. "This one is about done."
And although a great deal of this was paid for by Angie herself, out of the money she had saved, her mother had never expressed gratitude. She didn’t feel any. She had never at any moment of her life been so utterly dissatisfied.
She glanced at the new clock.
"Angie!" she called. "What are you doing?"
"Dressing!" called back a gay, a too gay voice.
"He’ll be here in half an hour."
"I’ll be ready!"
II
She was standing before the mirror in the bedroom, adjusting her hat, very delicately touching her hair under its net, tilting her head from side to side, frowning thoughtfully, trying to foresee the effect she would produce upon Sillon and Devery, Mrs. Russell and Polly, who would be in the church. She pictured herself and Eddie walking up the aisle—Eddie still in uniform, tall, severe, impressive, and beside him his beautiful young bride. She was wearing a plain dark brown broadcloth suit, a big black hat, and a magnificent set of silver fox furs Eddie had given her. She looked like a princess. They couldn’t, any of them, find a flaw in her—in her appearance or in her bearing. None of those born ladies could approach her. She looked what she was determined actually to be, the equal of any one of them. There was a position ready for her, and she was competent to fill it.