In this book one hears measured, art-trained tones putting into story form a philosophy of life, telling how it is necessary first to lose one's life if one would possess it truly, to cast aside all happiness in order to be truly happy. Sodoes her heroine pass through the fires with which life disciplines before she can be taught wherein lies the greatest good.
>"Oh, you darling!" called the voice. "Come in. It isn't locked." Sophy heard her add, "Open the door for Mrs. Chesney, Marie."
She opened the door herself before the maid could reach it, and entered. The room was charming grey and pink. The dressing-table was as elaborate as a lady-altar. Before it sat Olive, with her beautiful powdery brown hair over her shoulders. Only one soft puff was in place at the back of her head. The air was full of the scent of "Chypre," a perfume then very fashionable and which Sophy disliked. She could not understand why Olive used it. "Violet" or "Clover" would have suited her so much better.
She went up to Olive, and they kissed each other.
"You darling!" said Mrs. Arundel again. "How stunning you look! And what luck! Did you think it was for eight?"
"I thought your note said eight o'clock."
"Then it was my beastly handwriting. But I'm awfully glad, all the same. Now we can have a comfy talk."
Sophy sat in a little Louis XVI ch