It was early April, and there was a savage nip in the air, for Winter

shook his fist at the world long after he dared to come out of his lair.

Spring refused to sit in his lap for more than an instant, but leaped

from that affectionate position, ashamed of her intimacy with the hoary

sinner, and the buds swelled slowly and swelled exceeding small.

Other women hurried, but Lena did not feel the cold except when she saw

a set of magnificent Russian sables with a cordial invitation to "Buy

now". Her eyes suddenly filled with tears at her own impotence. Why had

God created her such as she was and then denied her the perquisites of

her desires? It was as though nature should make the heart of a rose and

should leave off all the out-shaken wealth of petals, whose reflected

lights and shadows make the flower's heart lovely.

With the mist clearing from her eyes Lena walked onward to the next big

sheet of glass, and looked through a wealth of Easter hats and bonnets

at the mirror that was meant to manifold their charms. She did not see

the millinery, but there was comfort in the really good glass, not like

her parody at home which cast a pale green tinge over a distorted image.

On Lena nature had really spent herself. The very texture of her skin

made the fingers itch to caress its transparent delicacy that let

through a tender flush. Every curve of her body suggested hidden beauty,

and the way she turned her head on her shoulders left one feeling how

music and painting fall short of expressing the loveliest loveliness.

But, having accomplished a miracle, fate had left it without a meaning

and thrown it on an ash heap. No wonder that it resented its position.

Every man who passed Lena on the street looked at her; some of them

spoke to her; but she was possessed of a self-respect that kept her from

responding to such overtures. She prided herself on her virtue. Certain

it was that the admiration of the other sex never set her vibrating with

delicate emotions, never increased by a single beat the pulses of her

heart, except when it suggested some definite benefit to herself. With

reason, Lena congratulated herself on her firm resistence to the

many-formed temptations that come to beauty housed with poverty.

Now, as she looked in the milliner's glass, she saw her own face,

rose-like and delicate. She saw the great violet eyes, so innocent that

they almost persuaded herself, as they did others, that some creature

more celestial than ordinary humanity wondered from behind them at the

world. She saw the fair soft curls that clung about her forehead, and

the sight of these things gave a momentary peace to her soul. Then she

surveyed the dingy felt hat that rested brutally on the silken wonder of

her hair, and rebellion rose again.




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