He smiled and shook his head, as if the possibility was too absurd to contemplate.
Rachel turned and looked at herself in the glass, raising her chin and slightly pursing her lips, staring superciliously at her own image under half-lowered eyelids.
"Some day I may be as she is now," she said, with the superb contemptuous arrogance of youth.
Adrian was watching her with adoration, "You will never grow old," he said.
"So long as one does not get the idea of growing old into one's head," Rachel began speculatively. . . .
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
But Miss Deane had got the idea so strongly now that she died that night.
Rachel was with her at the last.
The old woman was trying to mouth a text from the Bible.
"What did you say, dear?" Rachel murmured, bending over her, and caught enough of the answer to guess that Miss Deane was mumbling again and again: "Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face."
