The mature expression of a novelist whose books have brown in depth and intensity, not to say popularity, during the past few years.Harriet is the secretary of a very spoiled and beautiful wife. Her love affairs are difficult, the first unhappy through disillusionment, the later and real love threatened by her scruples against divorce and later by her fear that her husband will never love her. A great deal of atmosphere, much money and grandeur, talk of position and so forth.
handsome, even at seventy-five; with a crown of puffed white hair, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and an erect and finely preserved figure. Her silk gown flowed over her knees, and formed a rich fold about her shining slippers; a wide lace scarf was about her shoulders, and she wore an old-fashioned watchchain of heavy braided gold, and a great many handsome pins and rings. Her voice was theatrically deep and clear, and her manner vigorous and impressive.
"Well, my dear, your friends were naturally wondering what important matter kept their hostess away from her guests," she began. Isabelle had not been her daughter-in-law for more than twenty years for nothing. She shrugged and smiled carelessly, with an indifferent glance at the group. Ward's friends, the tennis- players, and old Doctor and Mrs. Potter and their niece, from next door. Nobody here of any especial importance!
"Harriet is managing very nicely," Isabelle said, contentedly, as Tony, with a sombre face and averted eyes, brought her her tea.