One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. “Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did. The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. I care for you. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her.
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