Positively,
Richard, I'm growing horridly ugly. Even my hair, which I'll
confess I did use to think was splendid, is as rough as a chestnut
burr. Feel for yourself if you don't believe me," and she laid his
hand upon her hair, which, though beautiful and abundant, still
was quite uneven and had lost some of its former satin gloss.
Richard shook his head. Edith's description of her personal
appearance made not a particle of difference with him. She might
not, perhaps, have recovered her good looks, but she would in
time. She was improving every day, and many pronounced her
handsomer than before her sickness, for where there had been,
perhaps, a superabundance of color and health there was now a
pensive, subdued beauty, preferred by some to the more glowing,
dashing style which had formerly distinguished Edith Hastings from
every one else in Shannondale. Something like this he said to her,
but Edith only laughed and continued her crocheting, wondering how
she should manage to introduce Grace Atherton. It was already
half-past eight, Victor might soon be home, and if she spoke to
him that night she must begin at once.
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