armonious lustre, reminded me, as of
some beautiful silken-shaded lamp, from which color rather than light
came with subdued ampleness.

I saw her eyes settle upon the flowers that I had brought Eliza La Heu.

"How beautiful those are!" she remarked.

"Is there something that you wish?" inquired Miss La Heu, always
miraculously sweet.

"Some of your good things for lunch; a very little, if you will be so
kind."

I had gone back to my table while the "very little" was being selected,
and I felt, in spite of how slightly she counted me, that it would be
inadequate in me to remain completely dumb.

"Mr. Mayrant is still at the Custom House?" I observed.

"For a few days, yes. Happily we shall soon break that connection." And
she smelt my flowers.

"'We,'" I thought to myself, "is rather tremendous."

It grew more tremendous in the silence as Eliza La Heu brought me my
orders. Miss Rieppe did not seat herself to take the light refreshment
which she found enough for lunch. Her plate and cup were set for her,
but she walked about, now with one, and now with the other, taking her
time over it, and pausing here and there at some article of the Exchange
stock.

Of course, she hadn't come there for any lunch; the Cornerlys had midday
lunch and dined late; these innovated hours were a part of Kings Port's
deep suspicion of the Cornerlys; but what now became interesting was her
evident indifference to our perceiving that lunch was merely a pretext
with her; in fact, I think she wished it to be perceived, and I also
think that those turns which she took about the Exchange--her apparent
inspection of an old mahogany table, her examination of a pewter
set--were a symbol (and meant to be a symbol) of how she had all the
time there was, and the possession of everything she wished including
the situation, and that she enjoyed having this sink in while she was
rearranging whatever she had arranged to say, in consequence of finding
that I should also hear it. And how well she was worth looking at, no
matter whether she stood, or moved, or what she did! Her age lay beyond
the reach of the human eye; if she was twenty-five, she was marvelous in
her mastery of her appearance; if she was thirty-four, she was marvelous
in her mastery of perpetuating it, and by no other means than perfect
dress personal to herself (for she had taken the fashion and welded it
into her own plasticity) and perfect health; for without a trace of the
ath