She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. Aliva Trencher. Wood's. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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