throb of pride that Lily could trim
her own hats--she had told him so the day of their walk at Bellomont.

He did not speak of Lily till after dinner. During the little repast he
kept the talk on his hostess, who, fluttered at being the centre of
observation, shone as rosy as the candle-shades she had manufactured for
the occasion. Selden evinced an extraordinary interest in her household
arrangements: complimented her on the ingenuity with which she had
utilized every inch of her small quarters, asked how her servant managed
about afternoons out, learned that one may improvise delicious dinners in
a chafing-dish, and uttered thoughtful generalizations on the burden of a
large establishment.

When they were in the sitting-room again, where they fitted as snugly as
bits in a puzzle, and she had brewed the coffee, and poured it into her
grandmother's egg-shell cups, his eye, as he leaned back, basking in the
warm fragrance, lighted on a recent photograph of Miss Bart, and the
desired transition was effected without an effort. The photograph was
well enough--but to catch her as she had looked last night! Gerty agreed
with him--never had she been so radiant. But could photography capture
that light? There had been a new look in her face--something different;
yes, Selden agreed there had been something different. The coffee was so
exquisite that he asked for a second cup: such a contrast to the watery
stuff at the club! Ah, your poor bachelor with his impersonal club fare,
alternating with the equally impersonal CUISINE of the dinner-party! A
man who lived in lodgings missed the best part of life--he pictured the
flavourless solitude of Trenor's repast, and felt a moment's compassion
for the man . . . But to return to Lily--and again and again he returned,
questioning, conjecturing, leading Gerty on, draining her inmost thoughts
of their stored tenderness for her friend.

At first she poured herself out unstintingly, happy in this perfect
communion of their sympathies. His understanding of Lily helped to
confirm her own belief in her friend. They dwelt together on the fact
that Lily had had no chance. Gerty instanced her generous impulses--her
restlessness and discontent. The fact that her life had never satisfied
her proved that she was made for better things. She might have married
more than once--the conventional rich marriage which she had been taught
to consider the sole end of existence--but when the opportunity cam