"Just like Helen! Imagine Mrs. Henry's state of mind."
"And Ann's," said Mrs. Whitney.
"Oh, Ann's in mortal terror. But how can Helen expect pasty girls like Ann
Fredericks--out last fall and already touching up--to forgive her beauty?
Trouble is, every girl who comes near Helen knows she makes her look like
a caricature."
Meg paced the floor a minute, then slapped herself into a chair.
"Oh, I've seen the women scowl at her," said Mrs. Whitney.
"Scowl?" said Meg. "Why, I've seen a woman actually put out her foot for
Helen to trip over. Old women are the worst, I do believe; some of the
young ones admire her. What do you think old Mrs. Terry said--Hughy
Bellmer's aunt--at the last of her frightful luncheon concerts, where you
eat two hours in a jungle of palms and orchids, and groan to music two
hours more in indigestion. 'A lovely girl, my dear Mrs. Van Dam,' she
said; 'a privilege to know her. Pity that so many of our best people fight
shy of a protegee of the newspapers.' _That_ from Mrs. Terry, with
her hair and her hats--"
"And her divorce record," added Mrs. Whitney.
"She fears for her nephew; as if Helen would look at him! But the
newspapers _have_ hurt Helen.
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