He spoke (with his chin over her wrist) addressing Rose:
"The study of chemicals and nerve tissues has not left us utterly desolate, you perceive."
When they were in their dressing room, Rose asked what the Doctor meant by that speech.
Isabel laughed and colored a little:
"Oh, he meant that a study of bones and muscles and diseased bodies had not made us prosaic and—and old. I think it has made me still more in love with healthy human flesh—but never mind that now; we must hurry."
Rose looked at Isabel in silent worship as she stood before her ready for the carriage. Her, ordinarily, cold little face glowed with color, and her eyes were full of mirthful gleams like a child's. It seemed impossible that she had written a treatise on "Nervous Diseases," and was ranked among the best alienists in the city.
Etta made no secret of her adoration. She fairly bowed down before her sister and before Rose also. She was so little and so commonplace before these beings of light.
Down at the carriage it was too dark to see any one distinctly, but Rose liked the cordial, hearty voice of Mrs. Harvey. Mr. Harvey's hand was small and firm, Mrs. Harvey's plump and warm. Mr. Harvey spoke only once or twice during the ride.
As the carriage rumbled and rolled southward at a swift pace, Rose kept watch out of the window. The street had not lost a particle of its power over her.
As they plunged deeper into the city, and the roll of other carriages thickened around them, the importance of this event grew upon Rose. She was bewildered when they alighted, but concealed it by impassivity, as usual. The carriages stood in long rows waiting to unload. Others were rolling swiftly away; doors slammed; voices called, "All right!" A mighty stream of people was entering the vast arched entrance, with rustle of garments and low murmur of laughing comment. Rose caught the flash of beautiful eyes and the elusive gleam of jewels on every side, as the ladies bowed to their acquaintances.