"How d'y'do?" she said, in the clipped New York fashion, looking at me
with the confidence of one who is never at a loss--and then--
Oh, the joy! For all her _savoir faire_, it was her turn to be
confused. For a moment she peered at me with a short-sighted squint; then
after a little hesitation, she put up her lorgnette, making an impatient
gesture, as if to say: "I can't help it; I _must_"--and stared.
Her eyes grew big as she gazed; but at last she drew a long breath, and
put down the quizzing-glass with an effect of self-denial. When she spoke
there was little to remind me of her momentary loss of self-command.
"Are you enjoying New York?" she demanded.
"Milly tells me you've never been in the city before; that you are
studying at Barnard."
"Yes."
I knew that I had impressed this strong, splendid woman, but I was a
little afraid of her.
Quite herself again, she began asking questions about myself, my home, my
studies; quick, probing, confusing questions, while in my cheeks the
awkward colour came and went. But it would never have occurred to me to
parry her queries. I could not help liking her, though when at last she
left me and began a progress through the rooms, I drew a breath of relief,
like one who has passed with credit a stiff examination.
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