"And shouldn't you have known her?"
"Scarcely."
"Mercy! Then how did you know me? She is unaltered."
"If that is Mrs. Purcell, at the window, she does not recognize me, you see; neither did ------. Both she and yourself are nearly the same; one could not fail to know either of you; but of the Mrs. Laudersdale of thirteen years ago there remains hardly a vestige."
If Mrs. McLean, at this testimony, indulged in that little inward satisfaction which the most generous woman may feel, when told that her color wears better than the color of her dearest friend, it must have been quickly quenched by the succeeding sentence.
"Yes, she is certainly more beautiful than I ever dreamed of a woman's being. If she continues, I do not know what perfect thing she will become. She is too exquisite for common use. I wonder her husband is not jealous of every mote in the air, of rain and wind, of every day that passes over her head,--since each must now bear some charm from her in its flight."
Mr. Raleigh was talking to Mrs. McLean as one frequently reposes confidence in a person when quite sure that he will not understand a word you say.
An hour afterward, Mrs. Purcell joined Mrs. McLean.
"So that is Mr. Raleigh, is it?" she said. "He looks as if he had made the acquaintance of Siva the Destroyer. There's nothing left of him. Is he taller, or thinner, or graver, or darker, or what? My dear Kate, your cousin, that promised to be such a hero, has become a mere man-of-business. Did you ever burn firecrackers? You have probably found some that just fizzed out, then." And Mrs. Purcell took an attitude.
"Roger is a much finer man than he was, I think,--so far as I could judge in the short time we have seen each other," replied Mrs. McLean, with spirit.